Bloodlines
by chaosshotgun
Summary: [Sequel to Bloodkin] The Shade has fallen, but it's just the first victory for the six Riders of the Varden. With the threat of the surviving Forsworn and King Galbatorix looming ahead, the Riders and their mighty dragons venture to Du Weldenvarden in search of new teachers, but more than lessons and adventures await them in the land of the elves. A retelling of Eldest.
1. Loss and Lamentations

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything familiar to you. Seriously.**

**Aaaand I'm back! I really was going to upload this yesterday but I was so sick after a 20-hour shift so I had to push it back. Lazy bum that I am, I haven't uploaded a cover for this yet. Let's see what I can cook up with Photoshop this weekend.**

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**Bloodlines**

The wind-morning-heat-above-the-desert was pleasant to any dragon, and that held true for Vervada-of-the-storm-scales. It would have been a good day to hunt, but not then. Her hatchlings were too young to leave the cave, and she as going to stay with little ones until Iormungr-of-the-azure-sky arrived.

Oh, how she loved the azure dragon. Two-legs-rounded-ears may have not thought that they were capable of anything more than being beasts, but even the wildest of her kind felt every emotion that those feeble creatures did. They lived. Loved. Died when it was time – if it was time. Few could compare to the strength of a dragon, and so few could be powerful enough to slay one.

A great huntress such as she had nothing to fear but the bigger hunters who might prey on her little ones.

But where was Iormungr? He promised to return and see the little ones that day, while the partner-of-his-mind-and-heart-Helga collected the eggs that were to be Bonded. She basked on a ledge under the brilliant-hot-sun, watching the light reflect from her storm-gray-scales that were almost black as night. She wanted her little ones to meet their sire and say goodbye to their to-be-tamed-egg-siblings before she took them on a hunt.

After a few minutes more of basking under the sun, she entered one of the gaping-black-mouth-caves that dotted Du Fells Nangoroth. Her little ones were still sleeping, huddled together beside the one vivid-gemstone-blue and two black-as-night eggs that were to be given over to the partners-of-her-tame-kin Riders.

_Rise, little ones, for your sire will be here soon._

The little hatchlings, barely three weeks old, stirred. They have just Named themselves the previous night, and it made Vervada proud. Mirmen-blood-red-scales rubbed his head against her. _Mother, why have they not hatched?_

Vervada knew that the little ones were asking about their two nest-mates ever since they were aware of such quandaries. _My little ones, these two eggs are not like you. They will not be as free as you to fly through the skies and hunt as you wish, as they are to be Bonded._

_Bonded?_

Vervada surveyed her six hatchlings – red, brown, pale violet, vivid orange, deep pink and yellow. _My little ones, I've told you about the Shur'tugal and their tamed-not-free-dragons. Your two siblings will be joining them. _Vervada loathed it with all her heart. She loved every youngling that hatched from her eggs, and even the two-and-forty who are now full-grown were still close to her heart – and heart-of-hearts. She hoped that the Shur'tugal will let her see her Bonded little ones on their hatching day. She feared and worried, for she sensed that her little ones will be subjected to a future of darkness, death and despair. She knew that two of them shall battle too. There was a loud flapping of wings outside, and Vervada knew that it would mean only one thing.

_Vervada?_ Iormungr's mind joined with hers, and she felt joy course through her mighty body. _Helga and I are outside with someone else._

Curiosity sparked within the mighty dragoness' mind. After a quick call to her little ones, she soared outside, followed by them. They landed on the massive ledge that overlooked the vast-lonely-warm-desert. Pale blue Iormungr stood tall and proud with his human Rider – a woman named Helga who had hair as dark as night. Beside them stood a massive, black dragon.

_Raugmar?_ Vervada asked.

_Is that the way you talk to your great-great-great-grandsire, Vervada-of-the-storm-scales? I came here to see your new hatchlings._ Raugmar the Black, as the two-legs called him, was a mighty hunter too. _You have fine little ones, but I fear for the future, Stormscales. It feels like there is a darkness looming before us._

Vervada hoped that it was just a dark feeling that would pass, like many other fear-worry-thoughts that sometimes came and bore no fruit.

**Chapter 1: Loss and Lamentations**

Six figures strode through an underground battlefield littered with the bodies of armored men, dwarves, and massive horned Urgals. Six glittering dragons in hues of blue, red, green, violet, silver and gold skirted nearby. Their glittering scales provided color to the otherwise dreary background.

Three days already passed since the defendes of Tronjheim fended off the invading Urgals – three days since twin brothers Eragon and Murtagh defeated the vile Shade, Durza. The battlefield outside the city was still a testament to the carnage and bloodshed. Bodies of all three races were strewn on the ground and it was difficult for the survivors to make a decent burial place for their fallen heroes. Pyres were lit up nearby to burn the Urgals which deserved no honored burial and resting place.

Eragon made it a point to come along with the other Riders to help in the recovery effort ever since he was healed by Angela. He already joined them thrice and was subjected to racking pains radiating from his spine a few times. Not even the healers' potions or the assurances from Brom, Angela and Faolin that he was fine did anything to get rid of the pain that always invaded his body. Even sharing the pain with Saphira did nothing to help him.

"Three days feel like lifetimes away," Roran muttered nearby.

"Three days since we've killed Durza, became Shadeslayers and my dear little brother was contacted by Togira Ikonoka – whoever he is," agreed Murtagh. "Arya, you're a pointy-ear! You should know who this man is."

"I told you, I don't know every important person in Ellesmera – yet, and I'm sure that nobody there goes by that name." Arya sighed. She glanced at Eragon. "Are you sure that you're fine right now though?"

"I told you once and I'll tell you a thousand more times that I'm not as fragile as it seems. I'm just sore. Please stop treating me like a child," Eragon said with a groan. "The storytellers and bards that passed through Carvahall always spoke of glorious battles. The truth was far too grim for that – it was all decay and irreversible death.

"This – this would have broken us if we didn't become Riders beforehand," mused Katrina. She motioned to the death and destruction before them. "Now doing things help us focus away from the pain. Being Riders taught us more than that though, right?"

"Yes, of course." Nasuada smiled grimly. "It's that the only glory in war is our attempts of protecting everyone dear to us."

The group made their rounds quietly until Ajihad's second-in-command, Jormundur, jogged towards them. He bowed to the Riders and it was something that he wouldn't have done before. "Riders, I'm glad to find you. Ajihad is returning and wants you to be there. The others are already waiting by the west gate. We must hurry."

Nasuada's face brightened, and Eragon understood why. Her father was busy for most of the three days, hunting down the Urgals that escaped through the tunnel network around Farthen Dur and the rest of the Beor Mountains. In between expeditions, most of his time was spent with Nasuada and her brother Melikir, lamenting on Himeria's escape with the traitorous Twins. All that the gold Rider could say is that her father wished to spend most of his free time with his two remaining children.

A small group stood under the light of a lantern by the gate. Faolin and Brom stood talking in low voices. Orik waved to the Riders, but not without a short, resentful look at Katrina and Arya. Though it was a good way to save the brothers who would become Shadeslayers, they still destroyed the prided treasure of the dwarven race. Dwarves were equally pleased and irritated with Arya and Katrina because of that. None of them had the heart to move the shards of Isidar Mithrim and left them in a circle around the main chamber of their great city.

To be honest, none of the Riders were pleased by the necessary destruction and joined in lamenting over it.

"Ajihad should be here soon," Orik said, pointing at a cluster of lanterns near a large tunnel at least a few miles away. "Let's be patient. I'm sure that he has a good reason for us to be gathered in here right now."

They all fell quiet after that, and Eragon put a hand on Saphira's side. _I wish that we could live a life of peace once all of this is done._

Saphira let out a puff of smoke. _Then we must fight for it. I believe that it's the only way._

_I wish that it weren't so._

_ I'm afraid that your wish will not be granted, little one._

"Do you mourn for them, brother?" Murtagh stared blankly at the tunnel ahead, his eyes flickering red in the dimness. "I don't think that the dead can hear our mourning but it's saddens me to see so many fine people's lives snuffed out because of a single man's madness."

"I agree." Eragon closed his eyes momentarily. "I wish – I wish that we could have helped them somehow."

_As much as you little two-legs would wish for it, it can't happen._ Thorn let out a dragon's equivalent to a sigh. _Brooding about it won't change things._

Half an hour passed in silence. Movement in the tunnel ahead alerted everyone and hands fell on weapons, ready for trouble. Ten men clambered out of the tunnel, followed by the same number of dwarves. One of them, presumably Ajihad, raised a hand and the group formed two columns. In this proud position, they began the march to Tronjheim.

* * *

Excitement bubbled within Nasuada. She looked forward to talking with her father again, possibly with a cup of warm, minty tea that Melikir prefered so much whenever he was reading a brand new book.

Her father's troops weren't able to move for more than five yards when other figures began to clamber out of the tunnel ahead. It was hard to see them in the dimness of the area and so the dragons' vision came in useful.

_Those are Urgals!_ Askanir roared.

"Urgals? Urgals!" Murtagh leapt to Thorn's back and shot towards the enemies, followed by the other Riders.

Nasuada cursed herself for leaving Skymning behind in her new room in Tronjheim. Nobody would expect an attack in the area once the Urgals were driven out. Faolin and Brom ran right behind them, while Orik was close with a group of other men. Jormundur ran back to Tronjheim for reinforcements.

She cried out as the Urgals attacked the rear of her father's group. They wouldn't – couldn't reach them in time to help. Magic can't be used in their current distance. Warriors clustered around Ajihad, trying their best to protect him. One of the warriors managed to fend off an Urgal, and it seemed like they were winning – until more Urgals jumped out of the tunnel and converged upon the defenders.

_No! NO! _Nasuada's grip on Solaris' saddle tightened as they drew nearer. They felt slow… too slow.

Before even Thorn could reach the fight, the Urgals returned to the tunnels, leaving only numerous bodies on the ground. She jumped off Solaris the moment that the golden dragon before she could touch down, and tumbled on the ground. She shook off the pain of impact, her grief and horror lending her strength. She fought back her dread and tried to look for survivors. It felt similar to the battlefield that they visited earlier, aside from the fact that the blood in here was fresh and it lacked the scent of rot.

Her father was lying in the very center of the scene, badly wounded and surrounded by numerous Urgals that he managed to slay. He was gasping for breath as his dark brown eyes focused on Nasuada.

The others arrived, standing in a respectful distance. Above them, the dragons began to hover once more. Nasuada fought back her tears as she knelt down, knowing that Ajihad could not be saved. "Nasuada," the fallen leader murmured. "Eragon, Murtagh, Arya, Roran, Katrina…" His eyes took in the sight of the six Riders. "Listen well, for I have one last command. Promise me, help the Varden remain strong. Keep it from falling into chaos. The flames of hope must not diminish."

"W-we promise." Nasuada bowed her head. "Forgive me for – for running away."

"No. Forgive me for keeping you away from your destiny. I am so proud of you. Peace be with you, Shur'tugalar." Ajihad's eyes passed over the six Riders once more before he drew his last breath.

Despair washed through Nasuada. She broke down and cried, not caring if the other Riders watched. She regretted so many things – running away without talking to her father, failing to save Himeria, being unable to help when the Urgals ambushed him. She fell so deep in her despair that she didn't immediately notice the arms that were wrapped around her. She clung to the person, letting her sadness and regret pour out until she had no more tears to cry.

"I'm really, really sorry for your loss." Murtagh's voice was hoarse, ragged, and closer than was expected. He let go of Nasuada and stood up. Tears streaked his sharp features too. "Your father was a great man."

Faolin and Brom stood at a distance, sorrowful looks crossing their faces. Roran had his arm around Katrina's shoulder, their heads bowed while they tried their best to wipe off their tears. Eragon and Arya stood together, their teary eyes on Ajihad's fallen form. Nobody spoke for a few more minutes.

Faolin broke the silence. "This will cause strife within the Varden," he said softly.

"There will be a power struggle, true," said Brom. "We should help avert it as much as we can."

"Won't you be a candidate for the next leader?" asked Roran.

"No, I will fight and help and advice, but leading this group will not be something that I will devote myself to."

Faolin glanced at the tunnel. "Brom, we must avenge him."

Brom grinned, but it was half-hearted. Stress and sadness was obvious from the former Rider. He unsheathed Undbitr and motioned for the elven ambassador to follow into the tunnel. The Riders sat around Ajihad, keeping watch over his body.

* * *

Through the haze of sorrow and fear, Murtagh began to berate himself. Embracing Nasuada was stupid and reckless. They were both sad, and she just lost her father, but it wasn't a good move. He always thought of things before making a move. Why did he have to be so impulsive in that moment of weakness?

_Maybe because you fancy the girl,_ Thorn told him.

_Cut that out. Of course not! Nasuada is an amazing person but she's our friend. Friend._ Murtagh watched Thorn loop around Solaris in an attempt to show off. _Well, you want her dragon for a mate. Is that why you keep insisting that I'm interested in Nasuada in a similar way?_

Thorn would have snorted if he was nearby. Instead, he settled for breathing a long stream of yellow fire tinged with red. _I'm your dragon, and you're my Rider. We know each other's minds more than anyone else in the world. I know things about you that you might be denying or unaware of, and the same can be said the other way around._

_Still… it isn't right. She's my friend, Thorn._

_Fine. Have it your way. Sharing your constant dreams about here is not pleasant for a dragon._ With that, the red dragon closed their connection.

When Orik arrived, he let out a groan and stomped his feet. He began to curse in Dwarvish while the other men looked on in shock. The dwarf plunged his war ax into a dead Urgal in frustration. "They've upturned a nest of bees, they have. The Varden itself will be upturned and complicate things further. Did he – did he have any last words?"

"Aye, but the right people must be here before I could repeat them," Nasuada murmured softly.

"Where's Faolin and Brom?"

"They went after the rest of the Urgals." Katrina sniffled and pointed to the tunnel. "They were talking about revenge."

Jormundur arrived just then with twelve ranks of six men. He motioned for them to wait at the edge of the area and proceeded alone to the center of the battlefield. He knelt by Ajihad's body, face contorted in sorrow. "Old friend, fate has cheated us all. If this mountain was not so big – nor our distance so large – I would have arrived sooner and helped you. Instead, we were cheated right after our great victory."

"Faolin and Brom already pursued the remaining Urgals." Murtagh felt horror for the elven ambassador and their mentor. How could the two of them stand against numerous Urgals?

Jormundur must have shared his worries. "They shouldn't have gone. But we can't do anything about it. We'll post guards here for now. It will take an hour more for us to find dwarf guides to lead the next tunnel expedition."

"I'm willing to lead," Orik said. He was still seething.

"Your uncle will need you. We will find someone else." Jormundur strode towards Nasuada and put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm truly sorry for your loss. You and your fellow Riders must stay in Tronjheim along with every other important person. Faolin and Brom will have to fend for themselves for now."

Nobody objected. After a brief rousing speech from Jormundur, every warrior knelt before Ajihad's body to pay homage. They liftd his body on their shields and began the teary, solemn procession back to Tronjheim.

The dragons let out a roar of sorrow and rage.

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**How's that for a new chapter, eh? And what's with that little prologue-like thingie with Vervada, anyway? I'm not giving anything away except for the fact that it's set 50 years before the Fall.**

**Won't you guys be dearies and give a review?**


	2. Power Plays

**Disclaimer: Not mine. D'awww!**

**I finished this early since I'm on a roll and I do want to keep updating as soon as possible! I've been going through 15 and 20 hours of work per day lately and it's killing me, so I'm doing as much writing as I can during meal breaks, while the officemate sitting beside me isn't around. Seriously, I feel awkward if someone peers at my laptop/PC screen, whether it's while I'm working or while writing something. Him constantly singing along or beatboxing to any music that plays and invading my personal space is seriously fraying my patience.**

**I was so exhausted when I uploaded Bloodlines and didn't realize that it was the 28th, so I'm greeting you guys a... Happy Thanksgiving Day! even though I don't live anywhere near there. :D What do roasted turkeys taste like? Turkeys cost a lot in here though some people raise them, but I haven't tasted one before...**

**So without any further delay...**

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The wind-night-cold-in-the-mountains was blowing that night. Glaedr-of-the-gold-scales was a happy dragon. He led a good life. Partner-of-his-mind-and-heart-Oromis chose two fledgeling Shur'tugal to take under his wing, and the two young two-legs-round-ears-boys were showing a lot of promise. His mate, the wild dragoness Mimerna-blood-fang just laid five eggs – three of which were to be given to the partners-of-his-kin-Riders.

He wished that he would not be busy enough not to see those three younglings hatching for their Riders. Maybe he could even ask if he and Oromis could be the ones to escort those eggs throughout the land of the two-legs-pointy-ears.

He knew that his little ones will grow up to be fearsome hunters.

**Chapter 2: Power Plays**

Arya snapped out of her sleep and sat up from her bed. A shuttered lantern glowed dimly in one corner, its blue-white light clashing with Firnen's emerald scales. The mighty dragon was proud of his ability to breathe fire, and did his best to showcase it at every possible time. The flames were hot enough to melt metal and yet the more amazing fact was that they did no damage to Firnen's mouth and teeth.

She really and truly regretted the destruction of Isidar Mithrim, especially since she played a part in it along with Katrina and the six dragons. Since it was shattered, the Riders and their dragons were unable to stay in the dragonhold above it anymore. That was why they were given quarters inside an old guardroom that was large enough. The low ceiling and dark walls made it cozy enough.

As soon as Arya remembered the previous day's events, she felt anguished once more. She briefly knew Ajihad and yet she knew that he was a great person. Faolin praised him often back in Ellesmera. Other elves may have known more about controlling emotions but she let her sorrow run freely. She wished that they arrived on time – wished that something could have been done instead of watching the bloodshed. Not even Faolin and Brom managed to catch an Urgal and hold it responsible. Truth be told, Arya was just glad that none of them got hurt. She fought back the tears that were threatening to spill. She had to reserve them for the funeral, else she might not be able to attend at all and just lie down in sadness all day.

"I wish that it wasn't so," Katrina said on the bed to the left of Arya's. She was staring at the ceiling blankly. "You do realize that the death of Durza was only through sheer luck, right?"

"Luck and timing," agreed Arya. She glanced at the empty bed to her right, and the golden dragon sleeping by its foot. Nasuada was with her brother Melikir since Ajihad's death, making arrangements for the funeral. "She will be fine. It takes time, but she'll heal. I did."

"D-did you lose your father?" Katrina asked.

"I was ten years old. Six years have passed since then, but it still feels like my father's just there, playing hide-and-seek like in the old days. He was killed when an elven base at the edge of Du Weldenvarden was besieged by one of the Forsworn – an elf named Kialandi."

"I'm very sorry for that."

"Don't be." Arya smiled as Firnen stirred. "Dwelling in the past isn't good."

_Good morning, little Riders,_ the emerald dragon said drowsily. _I'm hungry._

"You dragons are always hungry," Katrina complained.

_There's nothing wrong with a perfectly healthy dragon who wants more food!_ Solaris' eyes opened lazily. _We need to keep eating if we wish to maintain our strength and keep growing!_

"Dragons and food," Eragon groaned from the other side of the room, where the boys' beds were positioned. "We'll need to learn more if we're going to face more Shades or enemy Riders, right?"

"That's why we need to leave for Ellesmera soon – though I really don't know this Mourning Sage," replied Arya. "Yesterday was so terrible. How did the sentries not know about the Urgals? It's all so very strange."

"The Twins. I'm sure about that," growled Murtagh. He sat up, trying to flatten his messy hair. "I'll kill them with my bare hands."

"Now, now, you're just saying that because of…" Eragon began before Murtagh covered his mouth.

_Now, now,_ chided Luneria. _We've got time for that later. Let's eat breakfast now and learn of the Varden's plans. I'm sure that we will be very busy today and it's not going to be pleasant._

Arya prepared for the day ahead, arming herself with both her sword, Jordskalv, and her bow. She recalled the things that transpired in Tronjheim. Jormundur helped Ajihad's children place his body somewhere it could rest in until the funeral, while Orik rushed off to tell his king and uncle, Hrothgar, of the news.

There was a cry, and Eragon bent double in pain. He fell to the floor with a yelp as he tried to reach his back. Murtagh and Roran knelt by him, trying to calm him down. Arya and Katrina steadied Eragon, their hands on his shoulders. The fit took a few minutes – and all that they could do was to share his pain by linking with his mind.

When his fit subsided, Eragon was drenched in sweat. He lay on the floor, gasping. "I'm sorry," he groaned after regaining his breath. Saphira's nose touched his arm gently. "It was worse this time." He sat up and put a hand on his scar.

"Don't be," muttered Murtagh. "Are you sure that you will come with us?"

Eragon nodded. "I have to. It's our obligation as Riders and dragons to be involved in the fate of the Varden and help it in choosing a new leader. We have a great authority in the Varden now, and we have to use it wisely."

Arya pursed her lips, refusing to voice out her suggestion for Eragon to lie down for a while. It might hurt his pride, after all. She caught Firnen staring. _I'm worried about him, that's all. He's a good friend and it's unfair for him to go through this._

_I know, but nothing is fair for us._ Firnen looked away. _We're just lucky that the Twins aren't around to seek power._

_They'll probably be killed on sight,_ agreed Arya.

The nearest kitchen felt like a long way away because of the many people that bowed to them with murmurs of "Argetlam" and "Shadeslayers." Even many of the dwarves began greeting them with respect already. The humans that they passed all looked haunted and sorrowful. Every sight of women in black, faces covered in lace veils, felt like a punch in Arya's gut.

They ate quickly and quietly, the dragons keeping away anyone who wanted to approach them. Solaris even joined them as she wanted to give her grieving Rider some space. Arya could barely taste the mushroom stew and the fresh bread.

_Who do you think will take Ajihad's place?_ Roran asked.

_His blessing to us may mean that he wanted one of us to take his place, but that doesn't seem wise,_ commented Murtagh. _I mean, it will only bring us trouble and we know nothing about leading._

_Ajihad did say that Jormundur was his right-hand man, so that means that he was trusted enough, right?_ Katrina leaned against the wall. _We don't know much about Varden's other leaders, we've only been here for a week._

_We will have to make decisions based on feelings – impressions._ Saphira sounded worried. _Nasuada could help us though. Solaris, do you know anything about the other people here?_

_ Not much. I was very little when we left._ The golden dragon paused, apparently trying to remember her partner's words. _Jormundur seems trustworthy enough, and it's a shame that Brom refuses leadership. Nasuada doesn't trust the Council of Elders though._

Arya heard of them before, but she never met them either. _Who are they?_

_Exactly what I said. They're a council of elder members in the Varden, acting as advisers to any leader who is currently in position. Their position means that they will always have a say in any major decision that the leader will make. They're power-hungry fools who tried to use Ajihad for their ambitions but… he's too clever._

That was the problem. _If they could manipulate the selection of the next leader then…_ Firnen closed his eyes. _Trouble, trouble, trouble._

_That's not even including the dwarves,_ Askanir mentally groaned. _Hrothgar is good and is an ally of the Varden, but if the dwarf clans oppose him then they may use his power to place an easily manipulated leader._

A girl stood nearby, dressed in a dark wool tunic and breeches. She looked like she was at least a year younger than the Riders, and it showed on her slender form. Her hair was a rust-brown shade. She saw many people with hair like that during her brief visit to Carvahall, and the male Riders from the village also had the same hair color. It must have been a common trait for humans from the Palancar Valley. Her eyes were a deep, charcoal-gray shade. She kept glancing at the dragons, as if afraid that they would eat her.

"What is it?" Katrina asked with a warm smile.

The girl flushed and bowed. "Argetlam, Shadeslayers… you have been summoned by the Council of Elders." She smiled. "It is a great honor!"

Eragon and Murtagh watched her, curiosity evident in their eyes. "Are you going to lead us to them?" the elder brother asked.

"Yes, I am, Shadeslayer."

The Riders stood up and left their finished meal. The girl admired their swords with shining eyes before looking away, blushing.

"What's your name?" Arya asked, trying to make the girl feel comfortable. Being an elf though, she doubted that she could make any human feel comfortable – aside from her friends and Brom, of course.

"Aesir. M-my name is Aesir," the girl replied.

"That's a beautiful name." Arya put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't be afraid of us, understand? We're friends."

Aesir smiled and she began walking more confidently. She pushed a convex stone door open without much effort. They stood inside a circular room that had a blue roof painted with vivid constellations. There was a round marble table in the middle bearing the crest of Durgrimst Ingeitum. Seated there were Jormundur and four other people. There was one tall man and another who was quite portly. One of the women had elaborately painted cheeks, while the other looked more matronly – though she was armed with a dagger.

The door opened once more and the a pale-faced boy entered, escorting Brom and Nasuada inside. Their mentor gave Aesir a speculative look as he marched towards the table, arms crossed.

Jormundur nodded to the two messengers. "Aesir, Jarsha, you may go," he said. He glanced at the other people seated around the table. "I have no idea what you're playing at, turning Aesir into an errand girl. She is one of our best archers, not some messenger child."

None of the other Elders replied. They just gave Jormundur a sullen look. Brom crossed his arms. "Will any of you blasted old bag of bones tell me just what you want from us?" he asked irritably. "I have so many things to do today, and you're using up my time. I expected better from you – especially you, Jormundur."

"I detest this as much as you do," replied Jormundur. He gave Brom a long-suffering look.

Brom sighed. "Very well. My young Riders – the five who have never met them, at least – meet Umerth," the tall man; "Falberd," the portly man; "Sabrae, and Elessari," the two women.

"Thank you for coming today, young Riders." Jormundur glanced irritably at the other Elders. "I know that you are still grieving."

"Young Riders? And what of me?" Brom asked.

"You know what I mean, old friend," Jormundur said with a chuckle.

Brom laughed heartily. Once again, he sounded like he did back when they were still traveling. "Ah, good one." He ignored the glares coming from the rest of the council.

* * *

Roran just met them, and he already disliked the other members of the Council of Elders. "Were the Twins part of this?" he asked, simply to annoy them.

Sabrae gave him a withering look as she tapped a long fingernail on the table. "They are far, far worse than slime – leeches that work only for themselves. They did not wish to serve the Varden and thus had no place in the council." Her perfume reeked. The smell was like that of a rotting flower, and Roran felt the urge to retch.

"Their betrayal is most unfortunate but it is not what we are here for," Jormundur said. "The recent events brought a crisis upon us, and we must deal with it in the fastest, best way that we can. We need to choose Ajihad's successor before someone else does. King Hrothgar already conveyed his condolences, and while he is a most gracious host, he may already be having plans. The magic users of Du Vrangr Gata are also another concern as we can't predict their actions even if most of them are loyal to the Varden. They might oppose our authority for their own desires. It is why we need your help in making Ajihad's successor legitimate."

"I don't know what you're playing at," Brom muttered, glaring at the other Elders.

Falberd straightened up. "We have chosen the person whom we shall support, and we wish for you to keep anything discussed in here as a secret – whether you agree or disagree with us."

_That sounds ridiculous._ Roran glanced at the others – including Brom.

_We don't know what they're playing at yet,_ Brom growled. _We'll have to gamble it. After all, it seems like they've forgotten that your dragons are intelligent and aren't asking promises from them._ He glanced at the council with hardened eyes. "We promise."

"We wish for you, Brom, to lead the Varden." Elessari gave Jormundur a dirty look. "And if it is not possible for you to take charge then we shall support Melikir."

_But – but he's so young,_ Nasuada exclaimed. _Father has been instructing him but… what is there for them to gain?_

_He's like your father,_ commented Askanir. _He has a core of steel._

"I refuse to take charge of the Varden," barked Brom. "I understand my qualification, but why Melikir? After all, Ajihad trusts you enough."

"We are old friends, nothing more," Jormundur said, "and besides, I am a member of the council. We support each other and it would be madness for one of us to rise above the rest."

_He would have made a good leader,_ noted Brom. _The lack of support from the rest of the council holds him back. See how they look at him? He is like a wolf in a pack of jackals._

"My brother has no experience," Nasuada complained.

Elessari smiled – it was sweet and venomous. "I've been here for seven years when your parents arrived. I have watched you three grow up to be fine young warriors and diplomats. Your brother lacks confidence but he is a good figure to lead the Varden. The people will love him. He is such a sweet, caring young man. As for experience, my friends and I are here to show the way. He won't be lacking in guidance."

_They'll use him as a puppet,_ Roran realized.

_Aye, and it is foolish of them to think that Brom will let it happen,_ Askanir agreed.

"Ajihad's funeral will be in two days," added Umerth, blatantly ignoring Nasuada's wince. "We plan to appoint Melikir directly after that."

"You haven't asked him yet!" wailed Nasuada.

"He will surely agree. We hope that you would all be present then, so not even Hrothgar will complain. You will also swear fealty to the Varden after that – even you, elf. That will return the Varden's confidence and prevent any splintering in this organization."

_Fealty!_ Murtagh exclaimed.

_To the Varden, not Melikir,_ Katrina replied.

Eragon's eyes widened. _They want to appoint him instead of asking us – or Brom, even Faolin. That would mean acknowledging that one of us has more power than everyone else in the Varden. That will also show their superiority to Melikir, control us through fealty and have six Riders – plus Brom – to endorse him publicly – and one of them is even an elf._

_The last one may not be so important. Riders have no more ties to their race as a whole – only to the Order of Riders,_ Arya said.

_But still…_

"And if we do not wish to do so?" asked Brom.

"It would be terrible," Falberd said. "It would mean that the most influential in the Varden do not approve of young Melikir's leadership. It would be a shame for him to realize that they do not see him fit to serve our organization."

"Tricky, tricky, these games you wish to play." Brom gave the Riders a long look. "We will attend the appointment and assure you of nothing more."

"As you wish," Jormundur said, an apologetic look on his face once more. "Now, we must fetch Melikir – and inform Faolin. The elves, of course, must also know of our decision." He called for Jarsha to call for the two, and the room fell into an uncomfortable silence.

_They're trying to back us into a corner,_ Eragon complained.

_I know, but you need more allies, not enemies. It would be best to play their game and beat them at it._ Brom sighed. _They are afraid of you._

_But they have more power in the Varden,_ said Roran.

_Yet your prowess earned the respect of everyone within Tronjheim. In an argument against them, more people will back you up._

When the door opened, Melikir marched in, dressed in pure black clothing broken only by the royal purple shirt under his vest. Behind him was Faolin in equally dark clothing and a green vest. They sat down near the council. While Faolin looked passive, sorrow echoed from Melikir's face.

Askanir moved subtly to relay what happened to the elven ambassador. There was no doubt that the council would withhold information of what transpired.

"Faolin," Jormundur greeted. He turned to Ajihad's only son. "Melikir, Son of Ajihad, I am truly sorry for your family's loss. We formally extend our condelences – we all grieve for our loss but you and your sister lost more than a great leader. We all know what it's like to lose a loved one because of the blasted Empire."

Melikir bowed his head. "Thank you," he mumbled. Despite the timid nature, he seemed to be hiding strength too.

"It may be a time for mourning, but we face a dilemma in these turbulent times. Only you may resolve it right now, young Melikir. The council alone cannot lead the Varden, as you know. We need someone to take your father's place after his funeral. You are his heir and the position is rightfully yours. Everyone will be expecting it of you."

Melikir's eyes widened. "B-but… I am too young. I never expected that I would take his place until late in my life. I will embrace the office as is my duty though," he said. His timidness vanished, replaced by sheer determination.

Triumphant, the Council of Elders beamed and relaxed visibly. "It is for the good of the Varden – and yourself," Jormundur said. The rest of the council added their expressions of support, with Sabrae casting annoyed group at Brom and the Riders for not joining.

Falberd turned to Faolin. "Will the elves find it agreeable?"

Faolin gave him a cold look that was unusual. He raised an eyebrow, a familiar movement that Roran always observed in Arya when she was being irritated and yet did not wish to show it. "I can't speak for my queen. Melikir is a friend and I know a lot about him, so I don't find your choice so objectionable."

_Can't do anything, can he?_ Askanir grunted. _They backed us into a corner._

"Is there anything else that you wish to discuss?" Melikir asked. "My sister and I have more important matters to deal with before the funeral."

"We wish to do the arrangements and not trouble you with the funeral, but you and your sister seem determined," Jormundur said approvingly. "So we have no more matters to discuss for now."

Melikir nodded. "Thank you, once again. Would it be fine if you leave me now? I need more time to consider this development." He tapped the marble table impatiently.

Umerth looked like he was about to object. He was clearly displeased about the sudden dismissal. Falberd waved a hand to silence him, though. "Of course, if it will give you peace. We are always ready to provide help if you need our service." With a nod, the council swept past Faolin and to the door. Jormundur gave the elf an apologetic nod before following them.

"Shur'tugal, please, stay," Melikir said. "You too, Brom.

The council gave him alarmed looks, masking Jormundur's approval. Falberd lingered for a moment before leaving. Faolin grinned at the group he was about to leave behind though. Worry lingered on his face, but he chuckled before leaving.

"Some of us have not formally met," the son of Ajihad began. "I am Melikir, eldest child of Ajihad. I am truly pleased to be of your acquaintance."

"Consider us friends," Roran blurted out. Remembering that someone may be eavesdropping, he murmured, "atra nosu waise valdo fra eld hornya."

"Smart move," Brom said. "Now nobody will eavesdrop upon us."

Melikir relaxed. "Aye, that's a gift."

The dragons stirred and stood before the young leader. Their eyes met with Melikir's black ones for a moment. Then, they spoke as one. _We grieve for you and your loss, little leader. The Varden needs a sure guide. Use your grief as your strength as you don the mantle of your father. It is what we do with the grief we have for the destruction of our race – and our Order._ They swiveled to face Nasuada. _And as it is yours too, little one. Be strong, we all stand with you – dragon and Rider._

Nasuada teared up and planted gentle kisses on the dragons' noses. "I love all of you."

_Now I'm jealous,_ Solaris joked.

"You know that I love you most of all," her Rider said with a teary laugh.

"Ajihad is a great man," Brom grunted. "His name will always be remembered."

"There is something that we must tell you, Melikir," Nasuada said quietly. Her glance towards the other Riders meant only on thing – that they must let her talk of what transpired during the last moments of Ajihad's life. "Father gave his last command to us before he died. His last words were for us to prevent chaos from befalling the Varden. There might be a few implications around these words and were supposed to be a secret but in your place, you need to know. I have no idea about what Father meant and wanted when he said those. We will do our best to defend the Varden but we Riders will never dream of usurping the leadership of the Varden."

Melikir smiled sadly. "Seems like I'm not that leadership, eh?" He showed steel and composure, and it was enough for the dragons to admire. "I know why the council summoned you here before they called for me – and it's not just to offer the position to Brom, whom they knew would refuse. We served father, all three of us, Naz." Nasuada cringed at the childish nickname. "We planned for this – Father expected this to happen if he passes before his time. We expected this to happen and now I'm in the position of command."

Roran's eyes widened, realizing wha this implied. "You don't intend to let them rule over you, do you?"

"No." Melikir laughed. "Please continue to keep my father's final command a secret. It may cause people to assume that he wanted one of you to succeed him. It will cause further strife. He uttered those words to protect the Varden. I would have asked the same from all of you."

_I like this two-legs. He has the dragon in him too._ Askanir approved of him, then. _But I still wouldn't have chosen him over you._

_Of course. I'm the best,_ replied Roran.

"What are your plans?" asked Brom.

"I will continue what my father started but – but I might need your help." Melikir looked away. "I will work hard to fulfill his vision even if it kills me. Every plan and goal he had are now mine. We will take down the Empire, dethrone Galbatorix, crush the Forsworn and restore proper government."

"And what of us?" Eragon asked. "What will we do for the Varden?"

"To be honest? You can do whatever you want. I think the council is mad, thinking that you could be controlled. Riders, really! You are heroes – for everyone who hears of your feats during the battle. If you were to go against the council or me, we will yield. People would no doubt prefer you over us. If you accept my leadership then I will continue Ajihad's plans, and I will send you to the elves for training."

_Why is he being honest with us?_ Roran asked.

_I have no idea, but does that mean that we could have chosen not to go along with the council's dratted plans?_ Arya rubbed her forehead.

_My brother trusts all of us,_Nasuada explained.

_Either way, it's too late for that,_ said Askanir. _We've already agreed with the elders and we can't risk angering those._

Brom entered the conversation. _We can trust this lad, and he trusts us, that much I know. And I have an idea…_

* * *

What surprised Katrina was that the dragons also agreed. They often bickered and argued with each other before a decision was made, and now was one of the few times where they acted as one. Nasuada took the lead by drawing her sword, and before Melikir panicked, she knelt before him. Once the young man visibly relaxed, the others did the same and knelt too, forming a semi-circle around the future leader of the Varden.

"Some of us have only been here for a short while," Arya said. "We came to respect your father, especially as he managed to raise great children while managing the Varden. You fought when others fled, and treated us with trust when others chose to hold information from us. I am an elf, but we Riders are our own race. Therefore, let me say that we offer you our blades and fealty as Shur'tugal."

The decision was a big one – something that none of them would have done before. Even Katrina would have resisted bullying just to avoid that. The recent battle changed everyone's perspective, and they realized a few things. They knew what they were fighting for.

Melikir's dark eyes widened. He glanced at the six Riders – and one former Rider – kneeling before him. He lifted Arya's sword and laid it on her head. "I accept your fealty with honor, Rider, as you accept the responsibilities accompanying the station. Rise as my vassal and take your sword."

Arya smiled and did as was bidden. Melikir repeated the act with the others, until they were all up on their feet once more. Brom crossed his arms. "That was the only way for us to work our way around the position that the council has placed us. The council wanted us to swear fealty to the Varden upon your appointment."

"Ah, playing their own game." Melikir sighed. "As my newest and only vassals, my order for now would be for you to repeat this in public when the council excepts your vow."

"It won't be a problem," Katrina blurted out. "It will show them that we are not under their power."

"Thank you." Melikir sat down again on a vacant seat. "You must go for now – even you, Nasuada. Do not dishonor me, and I will do my best not to dishonor any of you too. Our bond is equally binding, and we must honor it."

"As you wish," the Riders said.

They left Melikir after exchanging condolences. Katrina walked by Luneria, lost in her thoughts. _Do you think that we did the right thing?_

_Better to serve an honest fool than a lying scholar,_ the silver dragon replied. _Melikir is doing the right thing but it will earn a lot of enemies. His enemies become ours, and I fear for our future. All of us. Though everyone will be worried and on edge until things return to normal._

Katrina grunted. _Define normal, please._

* * *

**Why is Glaedr featured in there? Well, you're going to find out soon so I'm not spoiling the fun for you! And I was surprised to know that you guys found Bloodlines so quickly! I need your speediness in the coming days...**

**I know that Ajihad's dead was so upsetting in the previous chappie and the book itself, but I'm assuring you that Himeria had nothing to do with it and knows nothing about the death. And yes, I will be spending 4 chapters featuring different dragon parents as minor introduction to... *BLEEEEEP***

**Did any of you miss Garrow yet? He'll be making an appearance next chapter, along with someone else who regretfully appeared for only a few seconds in Bloodkin. And if any of you are disappointed by Melikir being the new leader, just remember that Brom will be his adviser and I seriously want him to develop from a timid boy with a core of steel to something else.**

**Expect something different next chapter, and I hope that you could leave a review too! :D Love you guys!**


	3. Family Matters

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything that seems remotely familiar. Please.**

**Finally, no more literal 20-hour shifts today! I was unable to update over the weekend because seriously, I slept and moped around because I was unable to come with my best friends to the Pyrofest last Saturday and binged on Skyrim instead. One of them is going to give me a hard time when I hang out with him. Daaang.**

**A reviewer planted a seed of doubt in me, especially as this is not... my best chapter. ****Sequels are terribly difficult and **I do hope I know what I'm doing too, to answer you. T_T 

**And I'm seriously going to deck the beatboxing officemate soon.**

* * *

The crowd of two-legs-pointy-ears and two-legs-round-ears who flocked around dragon eggs steadily kept growing. The crystal-spires-beautiful-Ilirea made Luila-blade-tooth impatient. The enormous violet dragoness was from a flock of free dragons. Her mate was slain by Urgals a few days after her free offspring hatched, and it caused her a lot of grief. Now that the two eggs she offered to the Riders were taken to Ilirea for the yearly hatching ceremony, she wished to see them.

The two eggs were violet – a beautiful shade that they inherited from their grandsire. Luila hoped that her children would already hatch for someone. At least, she could visit them in Doru Araeba or in the other cities where young Riders and their dragons received their lessons. None of the eggs hatched for any of the excited people who stepped up to touch them.

That was, until he came.

The two-legs-round-ears-boy-child looked no more than ten years old in the short, fleeting lifespan of those humans. From her perch behind the Riders, Luila could see that the child had violet eyes. Ah, so he was related to the rulers of his race. He wore silky clothing that Luila saw on some of the Riders that she met and befriended.

He stepped to the podium with such an air of confidence that the crowd of mixed humans and elves hushed. He laid a hand on the larger egg, which did not respond. As soon as his hand rested on the smaller one, though, it wobbled and began to crack. Nobody spoke or moved.

Luira's heart soared with joy that was tainted with the seeds of sorrrow – for her child was to enter the world, meet the person whom she can share her heart and mind with, and yet cannot know the true meaning of freedom. It did not matter. The little hatchling was her child. But why did the other one not choose his Rider yet?

The child cried out as he touched the little hatchling and received the gedwey ignasia. He clutched his arm and sobbed for a few seconds, until he straightened up and looked at the elder Rider who was overseeing the egg ceremony. The elf Rider nodded. "Welcome to our ranks, young one. Will you tell me your name?"

The child smiled charmingly as he wrapped his arms happily around Luira's daughter. "I am Galbatorix, youngest nephew of King Lyud."

_Galbatorix._ Luira had to seek him out once he settled down.

**Chapter 3: Family Matters**

Garrow watched the ruins of his farm in sorrow once more. The travel from Gil'ead to Carvahall was slow, and he arrived only a day ago. The surprise of the villagers – and Sloan's anger – was evident ever since he left the merchant Caravan and set foot inside Morn's tavern. Horst asked him to stay in the blacksmith's until he could rebuild his farm and he accepted. He would have refused this act of charity before, but now – oh, how his opinion has changed. He needed their help in rebuilding his life, and he knew that they did not pity him. They merely wanted to help. He answered as much of the villagers' questions as he could, but he refrained from telling them any important information about Brom and the Riders.

Wonder and amazement was what he could see in the villagers' eyes, but he knew that one of them could be spies. After all, how could Enduriel and the Ra'zac have found out about the eggs?

The sight of the ruined farmhouse sent a pang of sorrow through him. His home was flat and charred, except for a side of the wall that was still standing. So many memories of his life before – before the rest of his remaining family became Riders got buried under all of the destruction. Wild plants and weeds were growing on the land he used to cultivate with the boys. He missed Roran, Eragon and Murtagh. His nephews grew up under his wing, and he loved them as much as he loved his own son. He wondered about them every night. Did they eat enough? Were they safe? Have they found the Varden?

He saw them battle Morzan's dragon as he fled Gil'ead, and he feared that they were captured, hurt or killed. He knew deep inside him that they escaped, but he couldn't help but worry. He hoped that the mighty dragons managed to protect them all.

"I'm sorry that this is all that got left behind," Horst said as he and six other men from the village finally arrived with shovels. "Come, let's see what we can salvage from here."

Garrow nodded, and they headed for the ruins of the farm, and the things that winter buried. The job took hours to complete, and it was five hours until sunset when they finished. He knew that it would take until a year for the rebuilding efforts to bear fruit, and he would have to stay with Horst's family until next spring. He salvaged his bow and some arrows under his bed, which the boys failed to search. He wasn't a good hunter and he never went out to hunt since the boys learned how to, but he had to at least help in Horst's household.

He also managed to retrieve his grandfather's sword. The dyed pale yellow sheath was easy to spot even in the mess that his old home became. He was going to ask Horst about its condition once they reached the blacksmith's home.

It was nighttime by the time that they reached Carvahall. He could see the wash lines hanging from various homes, the clothing varying from depressingly drab to garishly colorful. Fields were thick with winter wheat, and various men were marching out of them. Women were gossiping in the streets while their husbands closed their shops and began to head for Morn's tavern. In the background, the Igualda falls tumbled down the Spine and into the rushing Anora River.

The other men bade them goodbye and headed for the tavern too, while Garrow and Horst continued on their way. Horst's house sat on a rise that gave the residents a beautiful view of the Spine. Horst nodded to Garrow and the two men marched inside, bringing the things that they managed to salvage. They followed the sounds of conversation into the occupied kitchen.

Horst's wife, Elain, was a short, willowy woman with pale blonde hair that was unusual in the dark-haired people of Carvahall. She was five months pregnant and was smiling in contentment. Their equally pale-haired sons, Albreich and Baldor, sat across from her on the table.

"What's going on?" Horst asked.

"Ah, let me get you both something to eat first," Elain said. She set some loaves of bread and two bowls of stew on the table, and motioned for the two men to sit down. "How was it?"

"The wood that got left behind is either burned or rotting." Garrow sighed. "I'll need to cut timbers if I want to have a roof to sleep under by the time planting season arrives."

"You'll be getting plenty of help," Horst offered. "Now, what's happening in here?"

Baldor looked down sadly. He was around the same age as Garrow's boys, but he was shorter and slimmer than them. "There was quite a row. Thane claims that Albreich stole a scythe since it was missing but he hasn't even left the forge yet when that happened."

"He probably dropped it in the grass and couldn't find it," growled Albreich. Though he and his brother were two years apart, the big, muscular boy was only a year older than Garrow's brood.

Garrow bit into his bread thoughtfully. "Accusing you doesn't make sense. You could just forge a scythe if you needed it but… why would you?"

Albreich rubbed his forehead. "I know. He should have looked for it. Instead, he just grumbled and yelled about seeing a person leaving his field that looked a bit like me. Not even my brother could be mistaken for me, so I must have stolen his precious scythe."

"It will turn up," Baldor assured him. "Just try your best and don't get angry over it for now."

"Easy for you to say."

Garrow finished the last of his stew and turned to Horst. "Do you need anything tomorrow?"

"No, I'll be busy working on the blasted frame on Quimby's wagon. It just won't sit square," Horst said with a groan. "I hate it when that happens."

Garrow nodded. "If it is fine with you, I'll go hunting tomorrow. We passed by some deer down the valley and they're not too scrawny."

"I-if it's fine with you, can I come?" Baldor asked.

Garrow smiled. "Of course. We'll be leaving at dawn."

Horst pushed his empty bowl away with a smile. "Nothing beats a good meal after an exhausting day. I'll be heading for Morn's. What about you, old man?"

"I'll be going for a walk, if it's fine with you."

"Oh, you should," Elain agreed. "I think that it will help clear your head, especially after everything that's happened to you."

After a few more small talk, the two men departed. While Horst headed straight for the Seven Sheaves, Garrow walked along the streets. People greeted him with more respect than they used to. After all, he raised three boys who were now Riders. His only real problem was Sloan – the butcher would definitely find a way to blame him for Katrina's decision to run away with the other Riders. Knowing the butcher, he would have given her to the Empire if he found out that his daughter was one of the Riders – even if he doted on her.

He began to walk towards the center of the village. He was halfway there when he heard snatches of conversation right outside the Seven Sheaves. Curiosity too the better of him and he walked towards the tavern, where he saw a middle-aged man sitting on the porch. He wore a patchwork leather coat and brought a pack filled with a trapper's equipment. He was talking about helping in the fields around Therinsford around summer.

Garrow nodded in interest. Trappers spent winter in the mountains, returning to villages in the spring to sell skins to tanners like Gedric. They then spent most of their springs and summers working as farmhands. As the northernmost village in the Spine, many trappers passed through Carvahall. It's one of the reasons why the village had its own tavern, blacksmith and tanner.

The trapper talked of news that Garrow already heard himself during his travels with the young Riders after his rescue, and during his travel back to Carvahall. He knew that the Urgals disappeared from the Empire, for some reason nobody could point out. It worried him. Brom and the Riders were headed for the Varden. What if the Urgals were running after them? The Riders were growing in power, but all six of them were still very young. Could they fend for themselves? He also heard of the sabotaged merchant ships and caravans. No goods were stolen – only destroyed. The widespread attacks talked of something bigger working behind them.

Oh, but news of the Shade was what chilled him. It was all but confirmed in the quick flight from Gil'ead that a Shade lived in the military outpost there that also served as the dungeons. It would be bad enough if that Shade and the Urgals were headed for Surda, what if they really were after the Riders – or the Varden?

The man talked of rumors about Riders emerging from outside the Empire's control, but though the villagers humored him by laughing at the supposedly funny news, Garrow knew better. The villagers were protecting the three boys and the girl who ran away with their dragons and two other Riders in pursuit of a bigger destiny.

* * *

Eragon sadly watched the other Riders leave for their own tasks that day. Nasuada left to arrange some things with some of Ajihad's friends. Arya and Katrina were talking about the library as they left. Roran mumbled something about sparring with a dwarf before taking his leave too. Even the dragons had something to do. They were planning to practice some aerial maneuvers outside the city.

That left Eragon and Murtagh with nothing to do. Where would they go now? There had to be something for them to do in order to momentarily forget the sadness of Ajihad's sudden death. He would have wanted to go on a quick flight with Saphira, Arya and Firnen like they did before all of the fighting broke out, but thought better of it.

He watched Brom about to leave them too, before their mentor stopped. "I'm glad that you lads aren't busy today. Someone wants to meet you," he said.

"Who is it?" Murtagh asked, as they followed Brom up a set of staircases.

"Oh, you'll see soon enough."

They reached a long corridor leading to various apartments within Tronjheim. Eragon recalled that Angela lived in such a place. Were they going to meet with the herbalist? _I don't want to listen to Angela ranting for an hour about being unable to do something to ease the pain before turning her attention on bizarre projects._

Murtagh sighed. _Eragon, neither do I._

Brom stopped before the very last door to the left and knocked thrice. It took a moment before the door opened, and Selena greeted them with a worried smile. She nodded to Brom and threw her arms around the twins. "Oh, I was so worried! I was on my way to a mission in Uru'baen when they sent word of the attack, and I hastened back here!"

"Get off," hissed Eragon. He still hasn't quite forgiven her.

"You're smothering us," Murtagh grumbled.

Selena flushed and stepped away. "Oh, forgive me."

"Now, I must go and fetch her if you wish to talk of important things," Brom said quickly. "I will be back quite soon."

"Oh, do, please." Selena nodded and stepped into her room. "Come, we have many important things to talk about, and I don't have all day. I will be leaving today."

"And where will you be going?" Eragon asked coldly.

Selena bit her lip. "Forgive me, for I am a spy in Uru'baen. One of the most important ones, as a matter of fact, as I get many important information straight from the Forsworn themselves. I do not wish to discuss the nature of my work there."

"That sounds… dangerous."

Selena's room was sparsely decorated. There were some cushions thrown around on one corner, while a velvet curtain separated her sleeping quarters itself. A desk in one corner held a pack and a black-bladed dagger.

"My sons, I will be leaving anytime, but we need to talk as much as we could." Selena looked down. "I hid so many things from you, and I hope to at least explain a few of them before we part ways once again."

Eragon perked up at that. His eyes widened. "Will you be telling us about our father?"

"No. No. It is too early for that, and I believe that you and your father are not yet ready for the truth. You must wait until you finish your training in Ellesmera, please." Selena's eyes teared up, and she sat down on a cushion. "I do wish to tell you but I can't."

"Then what will we be talking about?" Eragon asked impatiently. "Please make it worth our time."

"Look, I know you are angry with me, and will hate me even more after today but…" Selena sighed. "I left you with Garrow because he is family, and I can't risk someone in Uru'baen finding out that I bore sons. It's not only dangerous for my work, it is equally dangerous for the disguise that I am keeping up."

Realization and shame filled Eragon. He felt it in Murtagh's mind too. "W-we would have been killed if they found out."

"True," Selena said quietly. "Worse, they would have taken you and used you against me."

Nobody spoke until someone knocked on the door. Brom strode in, followed by the girl that they called Aesyr. The child looked terrified to stand before the strange woman and the twin Riders. "This is Aesyr Sureshot," Brom said with a smile. He shut the door behind him and stood beside it, arms crossed.

"Aesyr." Selena motioned for her to come nearer. "I know that you were raised by Frederic , master of weapons. Have you met your parents?"

The girl flushed. She glanced at Selena, then the two Riders. "N-no, I've never met my parents before, though they told me that my mother is in the Varden too."

Selena nodded in understanding. "I do understand that many children here were raised that way because their real parent, or parents, work in dangerous fields and cannot reveal their true indentity. I have realized that it may not be good for the children too, and since you're here… I am your mother, if you must know."

A fresh wave of rage surged through Eragon. "She's your daughter?" he said, barely containing his anger. "Why – why did we not know?"

Selena gave him a look of pure anguish. "Yes. Now, if you must know, I was in Tronjheim when I found out, and I may not have reached Carvahall in time without being spotted in Uru'baen or some Forsworn's estate."

Murtagh gave Selena a wounded look before giving Aesyr a smile. "Sister… Ah, it feels unfamiliar to me, that word. But don't be afraid of us. We won't hurt you. I promise. We won't let anything harm you either."

Aesyr flushed. "T-thank you," she stammered.

"Why didn't you tell us when we first met?" Eragon demanded.

"Because I barely even had time to listen to your adventures and introduce myself before I had to leave – only to be called back because those dratted Urgals attacked. My children are in that battle, and blast it if I can't make sure that they're safe and whole." Selena glanced at Eragon. "I'm sorry about your back. I heard about it from Angela. It must be a dark magic that the Shade wrought in his final moments."

Eragon's hand immediately flew up to the edge of his long, rope-like scar. "Nothing could have been done to prevent it," he admitted.

Just then, the door flew open and a dwarf man entered. He was dressed in dark leather clothing, his silver beard shorter than what was preferred by his kind. He bowed to Brom and the Riders before addressing Selena. "Lady, we must go now. We cannot be delayed far longer."

Selena pursed her lips. "Very well. My children, I hoped to converse with you more, but it seems like we must part so soon. I will be seeing you some other time," she said. She wrapped her arms around her children before grabbing her dagger and pack. She clasped Brom's hand before following the dwarf out.

Eragon didn't know how to arrange the jumble of emotions within him. He was still angry at Selena but was sad that she would be leaving and glad that he at least had the time to converse with her. At the same time, he feared for her. Uru'baen was a dangerous place.

And existing gods might smite him if he denied the fact that he wanted to meet his sister.

* * *

After mumbling a few incoherrent words, Brom left too. Murtagh shuffled uncomfortably and felt Eragon's eyes on him. After a few seconds, Aesyr began staring at him too. For some reason, he had a soft spot for his newfound sister. The girl was a good two or three years younger, and looked a lot like their mother.

"Do you want to meet our dragons, sister?" he asked with a smile.

Aesyr's eyes widened. She glanced at Eragon, who nodded in encouragement. She gave Murtagh a timid look. "Won't they eat me?"

Eragon laughed. "Those dragons? They're perfectly nice. You can even talk to them with your mind! You'll like Thorn and Saphira, I'm sure! When the others join us, you could even meet the other dragons!"

Murtagh nodded enthusiastically. "Then you can also tell us about your life here, and we can tell you about our life back in Palancar Valley. Later, we will introduce you to our cousin, Roran! You have to meet him."

Aesyr looked quite bemused as each of her brothers put a hand on her shoulders and steered her through the corridors and out of Tronjheim itself. Thorn and Saphira were standing by the gates, which were blissfully empty of onlookers.

_That's your sister?_ Thorn sniffed Aesyr, who cringed and hid behind Eragon.

"Don't worry, he's not going to hurt you," Murtagh said, putting a hand on Thorn's head. "This is my dragon, Thorn. He's a bit of a blockhead, but he means well most of the time. Just don't talk about food around him, please. He won't stop talking until you feed him."

_I am not so!_

Eragon put a hand on his sapphire dragon's neck. "This is Saphira. She's not as gluttonous as  
Thorn but she loves to eat too. I think it's because she's a dragon."

Murtagh hoisted himself up Thorn and extended a hand to Aesyr. "We'll be escorting you today, and Eragon will have his turn tomorrow."

* * *

**Soooooooooooo, what do you guys think of this chapter? I really do think I messed things up with Selena's appearance, so I hope you would forgive me. And I promise that Aesyr will play a bigger part soon, and if anyone realizes a *ahem* future connection with a certain two-legs-pointy-ears soon.**

**I really will address the sudden imbalance of power that the oath of fealty caused. I promise. XD It's all according to plan!**

**Yep, young Brom and Morzan were mentioned last chapter, and thank you for the description of what turkey really tastes like, dear reviewer! I was so curious, to be honest.**

**And yes, Glaedr has three kids! Mwahaha! I hope you guys also weren't put off by the dragon-prologue-thingie here, but yes, that is the parent to one of our sweet, sweet dragons too! :D**

**You guys are seriously amazing, and I promise to post more updates this week! 3**


	4. Promises in the Midst of Stirring Darkne

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything _vaguely_ familiar.**

**I was missing for such a long time, wasn't I? My Facebook news feed exploded because of Paul Walker's death and some scumbags even posted a DISTURBING image that was supposedly his face after the crash. Well thank you, "friends", for I spent two nights with horrific nightmares and was unable to write anything as a result. It was a terrible way to die, I must admit, especially as he was trying to do some good for the world right before that. Fate is cruel. Seriously.**

**Well, to make up for that, I'm posting a 12-page long (Calibri, font size 11 anyway) chapter. Hope you guys like it! ;)**

* * *

The wind-morning-heat-above-the-mountains was the best way to clear a dragon's head. Valnad-blood-scales soared over the Beors, bored of circling Farthen Dur. The-partner-of-his-mind-and-heart Livia was down there, in the white-city-mountain-Tronjheim. She was busy conversing with the short-two-legs-dwarfs, leaving him alone with his thoughts. War was brewing on the horizon because of the maddened-Rider-without-dragon Galbatorix and his cursed-egg-oath-breakers Forsworn. Ilirea was in shambles, many eggs were shattered, and he was busy worrying about the six eggs that were spirited away.

Wise-leader-Vrael assured the surviving dragon-parents that it was for the best. Their little ones will be taken by the right people in the right time. When questioned about it, all he could say was that a wise one told him that it had to be done.

It still kept him awake long after Livia and his wild mate, Naneldin, were asleep at night. He worried about the ruby-blood-red-egg of his little one, kept away from the world for who knows how long. Sadness gnawed at his belly. Will he see this fine young dragon someday? Will his son grow up to be a fearsome dragon too?

**Chapter 4: Promises in the Midst of Stirring Darkness**

The dirt crunching under Garrow's boots provided a steady rhythm as he marched down the valley with young Baldor close behind him. Both men, young and old, clutched their strung bows and were ready to draw an arrow anytime. None of them spoke, both searching for signs of the deer in the pale, cold hours of the overcast morning.

"There," Baldor said, breaking the hours of silence. He pointed to a set of tracks that led to some of the bramble around the edge of the Anora River.

The tracks seem to be about a day old, but Garrow began to follow it. His body may not have been as strong as it was before, but it had to be enough for hunting. He caught Baldor staring and raised an eyebrow. "Is something the matter?"

Baldor looked down, running a hand through his honey-colored hair. "N-nothing much." He fell quiet for a while, the way that Garrow's own boys did when they did not know how to continue. "It's about Albreich," he finally said.

"Oh, did he really have a problem with Thane, then?" Garrow asked.

"No, it's not that." Baldor smiled. "I'm just worried about my brother's temper. He has always had hot blood but it has never gotten him into so many arguments. He's fought with a lot of the men in town who spread rumors that Katrina eloped with Roran, and that the twins helped them run away – which is why they're missing." The boy turned red. "He has been eyeing Katrina as a potential bride for years."

"I do remember an incident a few years ago," Garrow agreed. He remembered pulling a screaming, kicking Murtagh away from a crying Baldor, dragging Eragon off Albreich who had a black eye, and calming an enraged Roran down. Weren't all five of you interested in Katrina at some point?"

"Well, yes, though some of us did let go of it once we grew up. I don't think that Roran and Albreich did."

"Ah, yes." Garrow very well knew of Roran's interest in Katrina for months, even before the dragons came into the story and flipped their world upside-down. He told his son to wait for a few more months or even years before wooing her. After all, even if they were adults by sixteen, they were still very young. "I knew about Roran. But Albreich is truly in love with Katrina?"

"N-no! Not like that," Baldor said quickly. He paused again before continuing. "It's like… like… Albreich is not interested in her romantically. Not even lustfully. It's more like he thinks that Katrina would be a good wife. She would be kind and caring, good in housework, and could even bear them a lot of children since she's healthy."

"Oh." Garrow knew men who did take wives who provided a lot of convenience, without the love that wasere important in such unions. "Katrina could do the housework, bear his children and care for them. She would be more capable of being a wife than the other girls in the village. But Albreich and Katrina will not love each other, making it simply a marriage of convenience. Now that my… sons… ran off with her, it means that he could lose the only potential wife he has."

"And so, he will be in a dilemma. As the eldest son, he will be expected to marry and have an heir but without a good wife to marry…" Garrow shook his head. "Your brother needs to learn more about the ways of love."

"I know. He doesn't have any grudge on you. It's all about Roran right now." Baldor sighed. "Anyway, thank you for listening. I'm afraid to talk to Father about it."

"That's perfectly fine," Garrow said. He missed Roran, Murtagh and Eragon even more with this small conversation, but what could he do? They were off being Riders and going on their adventure, leaving him behind to rebuild his life in Carvahall. He did not resent them for that, but he hoped, at least, that he could have been with them instead. He didn't want to burden them, though.

The two men stopped and drank for their waterskins before proceeding for a few more yards. They halted as a scent wafted through the air. It smelled of seared meat and charred pinewood. Garrow gave Baldor a silencing look. He began to breathe deeply, trying to pinpoint exactly where the scent was coming from. The hot, smoky, enticing scent came from farther down the road, and Garrow felt his stomach rumble.

"Smell that? Who could be here aside from us?" he asked Baldor.

"I don't know, but I don't like the feeling of this," Baldor replied.

The two stalked quietly back to the road and followed the scent. Fear began to nibble its way into Garrow's very being. He had too much bad experiences with the king's men, and knew that it was only a matter of time before Enduriel tracked him back to Carvahall. He still forged on, following the road to the south. A hundred feet away, the road curved behind a small grove cottonwoods and out of view. As they approached quietly, voices began to reach the two, barely muffled by the thick, pearly fog that swirled languidly over the valley.

Garrow slowed down before outright stopping at the fringe of the grove. Surprising fellow hunters would be foolish. He recalled a rumor during his youth about a man who was shot on the backside after being mistaken for a wild animal by a fellow hunter. He didn't want to share that young hunter's fate. There was something wrong about the number of voices that he heard. They were more than an average family, or group of hunters. He gave Baldor a warning look before stepping off the road and slipping behind the underbrush which lined the copse.

"What – what are you doing?" Baldor asked in alarm.

One doesn't get kidnapped, get rescued and travel for a while with young Riders without learning a few things. Garrow put a finger on his lips to silence Baldor before creeping along. He kept his footsteps quiet as he walked parallel to the road. He rounded the bend and froze.

There was a camp of around thirty soldiers on the grassy land by the road. The baleful morning sun gleamed off the soldiers' helms as they ate their meal of roasted fowl and stew. Though their clothes were stained and worn out from travel, the twisting golden flame of Galbatorix was visibly embroidered on their crimson tunics. They wore light armor beneath their tunics, and most of them carried wicked-looking broadsoard. A dozen of them brought halberds and bows instead, though.

What was even more chilling were the two people accompanying them. They were taller than the soldiers, and held empty bowls of stew with distaste on their cruel, fair faces. One was a slender female, with pale, pale hair that looked almost white. The other one was male, with brown hair that was tied back by a piece of string. They both wore gleaming plate armor with spiked ridges down the back. Black cloaks billowed behind them. Above them, massive brown and violet dragons soared, glinting malevolently.

Forsworn. Garrow recognized the armor, since Enduriel owned a set too.

"They're back," he choked. As if by instinct, he began throwing up the defenses in his mind, the way that Brom taught him on the way to Gil'ead.

"We have to return to the village," Baldor said, trying hard to fight his terror. "We have to warn everyone, but you also have to hide. Only two have dragons, and no one has a horse. We can hide from people who will try to search for us from the sky, I think. But we must run."

For a while, Garrow couldn't move, doing his best to keep his mind shielded from people who may read it. He steeled himself and nodded to Baldor. "Home." Before the young lad could reply, he slipped through the trees as fast as he dared. He made sure that the camp – and those horrid dragons – were out of sight before running down the dirt track. He used his rising terror and anger to make himself run faster. He was past his prime, but the years of toiling on the fields lent him more strength.

Baldor caught up with him after they reached the open stretches of the valley. An icy spring air was blowing as they slowed down to a comfortable trot. "I'll spread word to the village. You have to talk to Father."

That was fine by Garrow. They reached the low hills that preceded Carvahall after a quick rest. The uneven ground was slowing them down but they still reached the village in no time. Garrow rushed to the forge and Baldor ran for the village square. Along the way, Garrow wildly considered things that he could do to conceal himself. He had no dream of killing those Forsworn generals. He would get himself killed in the attempt.

He found Horst singing an old work song while placing a peg on the side of Quimby's wagon. The blacksmith's work stopped as he saw Garrow. "Back so soon? What's the matter?"

Garrow waited until he could regain his breath before telling the blacksmith about what he saw in the valley. He explained the implications, especially regarding the two elf Riders who accompanied the soldiers.

The lines around Horst's eyes tightened. "You will have to leave. They know what you look like, especially as one of them managed to kidnap you before." The blacksmith frowned at the window. "Take your horse in my stable, get some food from my house. Ride to the foothills. I'll send one of my lads to you when we know exactly what they want."

"But what if they ask for me?" Garrow asked.

"We'll tell them that you haven't come back since you disappeared." Horst grinned. "They don't even know that you headed back here. Assuming it's you that they're after, of course. You must hurry. Hiding from dragons will be difficult."

Garrow nodded, thanked him, and ran to Horst's house. He paused only to explain the situation to Elain before throwing turnips, beets, jerky, cheese and bread in his pack which was still unemptied since he arrived in Carvahall. He grabbed his horse's tack and bags. He was lucky that he managed to buy one in Therinsford, when the merchant caravan he joined stopped to sell some wares.

His silver mare was dozing when he found her in the stables. After a bit of preparation, he rode through Carvahall, past Ivor's farm and to the foothills of the Spine. He made his way up to the mountains on the northern end of Palancar Valley, perching on a place where he could observe the village unseen. He picketed his exhausted mare and sat to wait.

He could feel the dark pines of the Spine looming around him, and he shuddered. The place gave him discomfort, and many of the people in the village never dared to set foot in the mountain range. It was for good reason too, for many who did never returned. His boys just had the Riders' luck in them.

In no time at all, the soldiers began marching into the village in one line, led by the two blasted Forsworn. The dragons hovered threateningly above them, but a few brave men armed with pickets blocked them at the edge of the village. Garrow shifted a little to conceal himself from sight with the use of some conveniently placed bushes. He watched the two groups talk and fall silent, neither side refusing to budge. It took a long while before the men moved aside to let the strangers pass.

Garrow worried about what would happen next.

A field near the village was converted into a small camp for the king's dratted men as evening rolled in. The long gray block of tents cast long, ominously flickering shadows over the patrolling sentries. A large, smoking fire of swirling violet and brown was provided by the massive dragons.

Garrow retreated to a nearby cave and made his own camp. The cool air calmed him a little, but the hoot of an owl startled him every now and then. He peered outside and saw a flicker of movement. On edge, he grabbed an arrow and nocked it on his bow. Albreich entered his line of sight, face pale with worry. Garrow whistled softly.

The young man was bringing a pack, hoisting it over one shoulder as he approached Garrow's hiding place. "Thought I'd never find you. Walking through the forest after sundown was bad enough. What if I encountered a bear, or something else? This place isn't fit for men," he said in fear.

Garrow nodded in agreement. "It feels wrong. What are those men doing there?" His eyes gazed at Carvahall wearily.

"They wanted to take you – a 'fugitive' – into custody. They were willing to wait as long as it would take for you to make your way back home." Albreich snorted. "Like fugitives would even return somewhere that they can easily be found in."

"It's all… a bit strange." Garrow rubbed his forehead. "Someone must have tipped them off or knew that I was on a caravan that headed for our village. They caught up so fast."

"They've been asking questions about you and the boys. That's all they're interested in. To be honest, I'd stay. People would be suspicious if I'm missing until tomorrow, so I'll be leaving you some food, blankets and salves from Gertrude instead."

"Thank you," Garrow said genuinely. "Please thank your parents and Gertrude for me too."

"As you wish. Anyone would do it," Albreich said with an embarrassed grin. "By the way, the two  
Riders? The woman's called Formora, and the other one's Kialandi.

* * *

_Fires burned around the silver-haired elven Rider and his black dragon. Funeral pyres for their fallen brethren was something that he did not wish to see. Most of the few humans that joined their ranks have also fallen, and were among those that were burned, their ashes scattered on the field of Doru Araeba._

_ The monsters called Urgals have caused nothing but trouble since they followed the humans into the land, like predators sniffing out their prey – and they were numerous, far too numerous for the slowly thriving human race to fight off. Humans joined the ranks of the Riders, who then left Ellesmera to become independent of any race or ruler, and the forces of the Shur'tugalar grew. It still wasn't enough to secure a victory over the millions of migrating Urgals._

_ Now the war has ended, the few thousand remaining Urgals retreated to the western mountains. The three races, one of which was small and barely hanging on, were left to bury their dead._

_ Anurin, senior and lead Rider, was left to grieve for the Riders that he had to hoped that his predecessor, Eragon, was still alive, but sadly the older elf and his dragon passed into the void five hundred years ago. He needed the eldest Rider's guidance._

_ "I am sorry for your loss," a high, chirping voice said._

_ A woman dressed in green and black armor strode towards him. She was shorter than both elves and humans, but was taller than dwarves. Her naturally gray, lifeless hair was dyed silver that day. Anurin approved, thinking that it matched the odd, ageless woman's gray eyes. "Rider, it is truly a day of mourning." She clutched a bundle close to her chest with a sad look on her normally distracted face. "I managed to salvage these from your burned tower."_

_ Anurin took the small bundle from her and carefully unwrapped sixteen beautiful gemstones – paired off by color. Red, blue, green, violet, gold, silver, black and clear. "The Dragon Eyes and Hearts," he said in wonder. He bowed to the woman. "I thank you so much, Wise One. I thought that these treasures would be lost forever."_

_ The woman's gray eyes seemed to fracture. "They will be lost for over a century, long after your time. But they will return to save your Order."_

_ "What will happen to us? And what powers do these gems possess?"_

_ "You will fall. All of you will fall. But you must persevere. These stones hold no power, but they will fall into the hands of those who are the last hope of the Shur'tugal."_

* * *

Eragon brooded over his strange dream as he oiled Saphira's saddle, the day after meeting with the Council of Elders. Arya was pacing impatiently around the Riders' room, her eyes stuck on a thick book about dwarven religeon. The dragons snoozed nearby, another lazy day ahead of them. Meanwhile, Murtagh was busy checking and rechecking his hair on the small mirror provided for them. Roran and Katrina quietly conversed in one corner of the room, while Nasuada – who joined them that morning – was brushing dirt from Solaris' scales.

Eragon was quiet as he worked, the silence broken only when his newfound sister, Aesyr, asked some questions. The girl prefered to converse with his dragon though, so he was left to his own thoughts most of the time.

It was midmorning when the door opened. Melikir looked more exhausted than he did the day before, with the bags under his eyes being more prominent. He wrapped his arms briefly around Nasuada and shot a confused look at Aesyr.

"Our sister," Murtagh said blankly.

"Oh," Melikir said, before leaning against the wall. "Faolin and King Hrothgar talked to me yesterday, especially about your oath of fealty. Apparently, it will cause an imbalance if all free Riders are loyal to only one race."

"Oh. Oh." Arya went white and dropped her book. She picked it up in embarrassment. "So what does this mean for us? Oh, we haven't thought things through."

"This means that I can't accept all of your oaths. I can't have seven vassals. I'll be keeping two Riders though – Nasuada by virtue of being my sister, and Roran because of his attempts to apprehend the Twins and Himeria during the battle. And of course, Brom's oath of fealty to me can't be denied. He's a very important member of the Varden and a good friend of my father's."

So he wasn't going to choose the two Shadeslayers? Eragon tore his eyes off Saphira's saddle, the dismal thoughts of his dream all but gone. "But what about the rest of us?" he asked.

Melikir shrugged. "I believe that King Hrothgar and Queen Islanzadi are going to discuss it soon."

"That's it? We don't even have any freedom to choose if we wish to be loyal to them or not?" Murtagh blurted out. "I mean, we are loyal to you – and to King Hrothgar, but we haven't even decided about anything."

"Of course, you can decline," Melikir said. "It would be better for you to know more about them before securing an alliance, of course."

Eragon exchanged a glance with Saphira. _I trust Melikir, and I think Hrothgar is wise, but it feels like we're being manipulated into taking sides, being claimed by different leades so that they would all have Riders loyal to them._

Saphira gave him a steady look. _We shall see, Eragon. We need allies. We have Melikir as an ally right now, but how can we secure allies from other races? Orik and Faolin are our friends, but they are loyal to their rulers first and foremost – and we must secure an alliance with these rulers and their people._

Eragon rubbed his forehead. _I just wish we had a choice instead of being tossed from one situation and decision to another. I know alliances are important, but we could make our own decisions, thank you very much._

Saphira merely let out a dragon yawn. She curled up closer to Eragon and closed her eyes, ending their conversation.

Orik slipped into the room. He nodded to Melikir, who smiled tiredly. He gave Aesyr a curious look, making the girl stand up, fumble for an excuse and dash out of the room. "Good morning, young Riders."

"We haven't seen you for a while, Orik!" Katrina stood up and dusted her tunic. Her coppery hair rippled as she strode towards the others.

Orik smiled. "True, so many things have happened lately. Hrothgar wishes to speak to you all today, though I'm here to inquire about Eragon's health too." He smiled as Thorn gave him a friendly growl. "A good morning to you too, dragons. I hope you are all doing fine."

"We're always free for your king," Eragon said with a smile. "He must know that. And I'm well, don't worry about my back."

"You know," Melikir said, "it's polite to ask nicely." He straightened up and headed for the door. "I must go for now. We shall meet again."

"True enough, what he said." Orik chuckled. "We'd best be going."

The Riders and their dragons followed the dwarf through one of the city-mountain's main corridors and towards the central chamber that had two mirroring staircases that both led to the throne room. Orik took a turn and went down a small flight of stairs though.

_I think that he's avoiding the central chamber and the wreckage there,_ Saphira noted with a small hint of regret.

The granite doors of the throne room was still engraved with the seven-pointed crown. The seven dwarven guards nodded to them and pounded the hafts of ther mattocks on the floor. The sound echoed for a good while before the doors swung inward.

Eragon put a hand on Saphira and they led the other Riders into the dimly-lit room. They passed through the statues – hirna – of past dwarven kings. Eragon bowed at the foot of the black throne. The mighty king of the dwarves inclined his head in return, his silvery hair gleaming. The rubies on his helm of gold glimmered dimly like dying coals. As usual, his war hammer Volund lay across his mail-covered legs.

"Welcome to my hall once more, young Riders." Hrothgar smiled warmly. His dark eyes twinkled. "I am aware that two of you have earned the name Shadeslayer. You have all done so much good since last we met, and for that I am so proud of you. Young though you may all be, you have truly proven that you are more than worthy of inheriting the legacy of the Dragon Riders, and the fearsome dragons who are at their side."

"Thank you," the Riders chorused as they rose to their feet.

"We also wish you to keep the armor that you wore – and used greatly – in the battle of Farthen Dur. Our most skilled smiths are currently working hard to restore them. Even the dragon armor are under restoration as we speak, so you may keep using them as long as you wish," the king continued, even addressing the dimly glinting forms of the dragons, "or until you outgrow them. This is the least that we can do right now to show you our gratitude, what with the war raging. Else, we would hold countless feasts and celebrations for you and your feats. Sadly, those must wait for a more appropriate time."

Arya bowed, her silky hair falling around her face as she did. "Your Highness, you are generous beyond all expectations. We cherish your noble gifts. We all do." Her face glowed with a smile that lit up the dark room.

_You… fancy her? _Saphira asked, the words uncomfortable in her thoughts.

_Stop that,_ grumbled Eragon.

"Forgive me," Hrothgar said, though he was clearly pleased. A frown creased upon his ancient brow. "I wish to talk of more pleasant matters with you, as I enjoy your company, but there are more pressing matters to talk about. The clans have been pestering me to do one thing or another about Ajihad's successor. The Council of Elders proclaimed their support of Melikir yesterday. I will be honest with you. They caused such an uproar which I haven't seen since I ascended the throne. Chiefs have been divided over supporting him too, and searching for a different candidate. Most of them agreed on supporting Melikir but I want to know your opinions before I support either side. The worst thing that a king could do is to look like a fool."

_How much can we tell him?_ Eragon asked the others nervously.

Arya gave him an uncomfortable look. _He always treated us fairly – even if I'm an elf and we don't get along with dwarves much._

_ B-but we don't know what he promised other people!_ Luneria had a point too.

Roran rubbed his chin. _We better be cautious until Melikir actually takes power, then._

_Very well,_ the others agreed.

"We have all agreed to help Melikir as much as we could in our different positions," Roran said quietly. "We won't oppose him. We plead you to do the same. The Varden needs unity and can't afford to fight inner battles."

"Oei." Hrothgar's eyes brightened as he leaned back. "You speak with new authority, young one. It is a good suggestion. But do you have any other motives in choosing Melikir, aside from the fact that he is related to one of you and you think he would make a wise leader?"

_That's a test,_warned Saphira.

Roran flushed. "He's… timid, but I think that he's wiser and is quite canny too – more than could be expected because of his age. He's good for the Varden and therefore, we support him."

Hrothgar nodded in approval. "Your words relieve me. Too many people today forget about what is good and right, focusing more on gaining individual power. It's difficult to watch people going about with such idiocy and not feel angry."

Silence fell for a few seconds, until Eragon felt the need to break it. "Will something be done with the dragonhold?"

A mournful look passed through Hrothgar's eyes, deepening the lines on his face. That was the closest thing to weeping for a dwarf, Eragon wagered. "Much talk will have to be done before such a step could be taken. It was a terrible but necessary did. Sometimes, it feels like it would have been better to be overrun with Urgals, if it meant that Isidar Mithrim remained whole – but it would be ridiculous to wish for such a thing. The heart of Tronjheim and every dwarf has been shattered." Hrothgar placed his fist over his chest before unclenching it and grasping Volund's leather-wrapped handle instead.

Eragon felt Saphira's remorse. Judging from the others' expressions, the dragons all felt guilty for destroying it. Katrina and Arya seemed close to tears, as they were also partially responsible for the deed.

"F-Firnen wishes to ask you, Your Highness, if the dwarves can reconstruct Isidar Mithrim out of the shards," Arya said. It was strange to see an elf so uncomfortable. In fact, it seemed like she wanted to melt into the shadows because of her shame.

"We have the skill to do it," Hrothgar said slowly. He gave Arya a long look. "It would take months, even years to complete. And even if we do it, the result would end up being a ruined mockery of the graceful beauty that once graced and adorned Tronjheim. I cannot sanction it."

Arya seemed to shrink under his unwavering gaze. "If Isidar Mithrim was reconstructed with no missing piece, the dragons believe that they can make it whole, truly whole, again."

"Is it possible?" Hrothgar asked, leaning forward in sudden interest.

Eragon gazed at Saphira in alarm as the other Riders confered with their dragons too. _That would require so much energy, and besides, I thought Brom told us that you can't use magic at will. How sure can you be about your success?_

_ As long as the need is great enough, we can do it._ Saphira seemed so sure of herself that Eragon felt bad for not believing in her._ It will be our gift to the dwarves, not only to make up for their loss but also to thank them for their great hospitality. Now, will you please close your mouth? It ill suits you and besides, the king is watching._

"They seem confident in their abilities," Katrina said, though she seemed worried.

"Then we will start the rebuilding efforts even if it would take us a hundred years to complete it. We won't ignore even one small chip. We might have to break larger pieces but with our stoneworking skills, not even a dust will be lost. You will come once we finish and heal our Star Rose."

"We will."

Hrothgar smiled warmly. "You have given me so much joy and hope, beautiful dragons. Feel free to spread the word to any and all dwarf that you meet. If you do succeed, dwarves will sing songs of praise to honor you in our clan halls. Go now with my blessings. I must spread the news to the other clans."

The Riders bowed before departing with their dragons, leaving the king of the dwarves smiling upon them. They told Orik of what happened. The young dwarf immediately bent and kissed the floor before the dragon. He had a face-splitting grin on his face once he straightened up. "You wondrous, wondrous dragons have given us hope to fight through the current despair. I am sure that there will be much drinking tonight."

"Right, and tomorrow is my father's funeral," Nasuada said tiredly.

"Aye, but it is for tomorrow, and we must not let unhappy, painful thoughts pierce us all the time. Come, come." Orik took Arya and Eragon's hands as they were the nearest and led them through Tronjheim, followed by the others.

* * *

They entered a massive feast hall where some dwarves sat glumly behind stone tables. Orik jumped onto one. Dishes fell on the floor. The dwarves' gazes swivelled to the king's nephew as he announced the news regarding Isidar Mithrim.

The cheers and shouts of joy nearly deafened Roran. The dwarves all insisted on coming to the dragons and kissing the floor, as Orik had done. They abandoned their food and filled their stone tankards with mixes of beer and mead.

Roran found it easy to join in the celebration. Though he was happy with Askanir and the others, the pain of Ajihad's passing was still fresh. Now he had a way to ease the pain, at least for the moment. He did do his best not to be fully consumed by the celebration though. He will need a clear head for the activities that will come soon. Amused, he watched the dragons sip some mead. Upon realizing that they liked it, the dwarves rolled out six barrels for their consumption. Three long draughts were all it took for Saphira to drink hers, and she tilted her head to the ceiling before belching a massive tongue of vivid fire. Eragon and Roran had to reassure the dwarves that it was safe to approach the dragons. The cook protested when the happy dwarves gave the dragons another barrel each. Saphira quickly emptied that one as well.

Saphira's inebriation seemed to have an effect on Eragon, and Roran noted that his younger cousin was getting more and more wobbly. He drunk his own tankard dazedly and had to rely upon Roran to remain upright at times.

The happy dwarves sang together with the dragons humming along dunkenly. Roran felt Askanir's drunkenness blurring their connection. Sights, scents and sounds shifted horridly, and he almost slumped against the table. He watched Murtagh and Nasuada waltz ridiculously around the hall. Arya was having a drinking match with a dwarf, while Katrina dazedly sipped a single tankard of mead. Roran opened his mouth to join in the song when Eragon let out a raspy dragon roar. He wondered if he was too drunk already. He discarded the thought and kept singing, not caring if he had a dragon's voice.

More and more dwarves filed into the hall as the news kept spreading. Hundreds of them took their places with friends, packing the tables. They kept a thick ring around the equally drunk Riders and the dragons. Katrina was too inebriated and slumped against Roran, who felt the blush creep up his cheeks. He put his arm around her and continued with the song that one dwarf started. Musicians lent their harps, lutes and silver flutes to the melody. Arya and Eragon joined Murtagh and Nasuada's drunken waltz, and the two pairs kept bumping into each other.

So many hours passed before the celebration began to finally calm down. When it did, Orik tipsily clambered up the table and stood with his tankard in hand, legs spread wide and his cap sitting precariously on his head. "Hear, hear! We have properly celebrated. We should have done this sooner. The Urgals have been chased away, and our mighty slayers made sure that the Shade stays dead. For good." The dwarves cheered and pounded their tables. Arya tried to imitate them and shattered her tankard by accident. "For our mighty Riders and the valiant dragons!" He raised his tankard, receiving more cheers from his kinsmen.

The Riders gave each other a lazy smile, stood up, and bowed. Saphira reared, trying to imitate them. She swung a foreleg to her chest and lost balance. She tottered, scattering the dwarves surrounding her. They barely managed to move away when she fell backward, landing on a banquet table.

Eragon cried out and collapsed by her tail. Roran rushed towards his cousin, forgetting that Katrina was leaning on him and leaving her to slump on the long bench.

* * *

**Sorry about being irritable and sorry for my rants. :(**

**Kialandi and Formora are alive? *gasps* But don't worry. They're crazy enough to underestimate people, and Garrow is smarter and more capable of things now!**

**Honestly answering a reviewer's question, I randomly make up OC names, though Luneria and Solaris' names are sort of based on words for the moon and the sun. Had to Google Translate Askanir's name though, and tacked a few extra letters at the end to at least make it sound dragon-y. Poor purply dragon almost ended up being named Mirmulnir. Himeria and Melikir are totally made up though. And Aesyr? I, uh, loaned a word for a certain group of deities fron Norse mythology.**

**The world seems bent on never giving our poor Riders a "normal" time, while dark things are stirring in Carvahall. Stay tuned for the next chapter and leave a review for Saphira if you can! :3**


	5. Embers of a Flickering Flame

**Being friendzoned by your guy best friend hurts. As a girl, you can't do anything much about it. Oh well. I haven't update for ages, is anybody out for blood yet? *sounds of a groaning zombie girl* My laptop basically died. I had to scrounge up all of my hidden IT skills (I took up Information Technology, majoring in multimedia tech) to save this old chap. My two desktops are great life savers too! Phew.**

**Sooooo...**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Embers of a Flickering Flame**

"Knurlheim, you can't sleep right now! We're needed at the gate. They won't start without us. Ajihad's procession is waiting for us!"

Eragon woke up with a groan. Around him, the other Riders were in different states of disarray from the night of debauchery. He could barely recall some events from the previous night, but his cheeks flushed as his mind strayed to his dazed dancing with Arya. The dragons' bleary eyes were fixed on the dwarf. "What did you call me?"

"Knurlheim. Stonehead. I've been trying to wake all of you for almost an hour," muttered Orik.

Eragon slid off the table he was lying on, his head aching and his body sore. There was a sick taste on his tongue and knew that the other Riders felt no better. He stumbled towards Saphira. _How are you faring?_

Saphira grunted. She ran her red tongue in and out, over her teeth. _I think I'm whole, but my left wing feels strange since I landed on it. Ugh. My head feels like it's on fire._

"Did anyone get hurt when she fell?" Katrina asked from one corner of the room, smoothening her tunic in a hurried way.

Orik laughed heartily. "Only those that fell of their seats in laughter," he said. "A drunk dragon that bows? Oh, songs will be sung about it in the decades to come." Saphira shuffled uncomfortably. "The others passed out soon after, and we thought it best to leave you here. We couldn't move a dragon – much less six. The cook was terribly upset. He was afraid of your ability to drink more of his best stock."

_Consuming four barrels would kill me!_ Eragon grinned.

Saphira shot him a withering look. _That's why you're not a dragon._

Orik set down bundles of clothes on the table. "Get these sorted out, find a place to throw them on. They're more suitable for a funeral than those clothes of yours."

Eragon dashed into a nearby empty apartment and threw on a billowy white shirt with ties at the cuffs, a deep blue vest with silvery decorations, dark pants, black boots and a swirling black cape which was fastened by a silver-studded brooch designed like the gedwey ignasia. He wore an ornate belt where Kylskada was fastened. He stepped out of the room to find the other Riders waiting, wearing similar clothing. Their vests also matched the color of their dragons.

"Looking good," Arya said, smoothing his hair quickly.

Eragon felt the warm flush of his cheeks. "You didn't have to do that, you!"

Arya smirked. "We can't let one of us look ridiculous during the funeral of an esteemed leader, my friend."

_She's right,_ Saphira added. _Your hair was sticking up. You looked like a tasty chicken._

Eragon was still grumbling about women – and recalling the way Arya touched his hair – when they followed Orik to the south gate. The dragons were right behind them, swaying and bumping against each other. Having too much to drink, whether one was human, dragon, dwarf or elf, took its toll the next day.

Arya rubbed her forehead in frustration as they walked through the eerily quiet halls of Tronjheim. She felt ridiculous, acting like a mother hen who wants her chick to look good at all times. She knew that Eragon was irritated because of that, but she did want him to look good. Not that he wasn't handsome. Oh, he was. With his open, carefree face that was subtly different from Murtagh's sharp, brooding features, human girls must have clamored for his attention in Carvahall.

_That's the problem, isn't it? _Firnen asked, his pace steady if a little wobbly. _You have some… interest in the little two-legs. It's more than friendship, else you would have fussed over the smudge on Murtagh's nose._

Arya crossed her arms. _He's a human. A Rider, but still human, and a very good friend at that. Why would I be interested in becoming more than his friend?_

_ Exactly that. He is one of your good friends. You've seen his good and bad side, and it's driving you mental. I've shared a lot of your dreams, including those that involved kissing the poor boy._

_ And I've had a fair share of dreams that feature mating – yes, mating! – with Saphira, so it makes us even. And just so you know, mine will pass eventually but yours won't, so I'll be stuck with those kinds of dreams at night for my entire life._

Firnen gave her a wounded look – or at least as wounded as a dragon could attempt. _Oh, Arya. At least Eragon may also be interested in you. I'm sure Saphira won't even give me a second look once we can freely look for mates._

Arya shook her head. _I don't want to discuss this._

_As you wish. _Firnen withdrew from her mind, his own consciousness getting fuzzier due to his dazed, previously drunk state.

"We will have to start here," Orik said as they reached the gates. "The procession stopped here three days ago. We can't interrupt it, else his spirit will find no rest."

Arya nudged Katrina. _That's a strange custom,_ she noted.

_Many human settlements have their own odd customs too, and not just for funerals,_ agreed Katrina. _Back in Carvahall, we simply buried the dead beside their farms and marked their graves. We recited a few lines from certain ballads and held death feasts for relatives and friends._

Nasuada let out a choked sob and tried to wipe off her tears. In a show of solidarity and true concern for her grieving friend, Arya put an encouraging hand on her shoulder. It was going to be a long, long day.

"Where will Ajihad be buried?" Eragon asked at the head of the group.

"Ah, that caused much debate among the clans," Orik said. "When dwarves die, it is our belief that he needs to be sealed in stone else he will not be able to join his ancestors. It's honestly more complex than that but I can't say more to outsiders, though. We wil ldo everything to assure a burial such as that. There will be shame on a family or even a clan if they allow anybody among them to lie in something lesser. For that reason, there is a hall here, under Farthen Dur, where all knurlan – dwarves – who have died are buried. We can't entomb Ajihad there since he's not a dwarf, of course, but we set a hallowed place for him to rest in. That way, people may visit him without disturbing our halls for the dead, and he will receive the respect he should have."

"Your king has done a lot for us and for the Varden," Nasuada mused sadly.

"Aye," agreed Orik. "Some say that it's too much."

The thick gates were drawn up, revealing the small amount of sunlight drifting through Farthen Dur. There was a carefully arranged column of people behind those. Ajihad lay before them, cold and pale, on a bier made of marble. Six men clad in black bore it with grim faces. Nasuada and Katrina began to sob together. Arya knew that it was only a matter of time before she and the boys did too. Grief chose no gender, no race.

The precious stones on Ajihad's helm glinted dully, as if sharing their sadness. His hands were clasped over his chest, over the ivory hilt that belonged to his sword, which was bared, extending underneath the triangular shield that covered most of his chest and legs. The mail he wore could barely be seen, except on the places where it flowed over the bier.

Close behind it stood Melikir, dressed in dismal gray clothing from his shirt, vest, trousers and down to his boots. His black cape flowed behind him limply. A steely determination emanated from him. Behind him stood Brom, tall and proud, wearing clothing similar to the Riders, with a pale blue vest and a matching cape. Hrothgar was to the side, wearing dark robes that fitted the occasion. Faolin stood nearby, arms crossed, dressed in his regular black tunic and breeches. The Council of Elders were nearby, wearing suitably remorseful expressions – though Jormundur did seem genuinely grief-stricken.

The rest of the mourners extended a mile from Tronjheim. It felt somehow grander than the funeral that was held when Arya's father died – and he was an important man.

Nasuada was about to move towards her brother when people began to sigh and whisper. Jormundur shook his head and beckoned for them to join him. Trying their best not to disturb the formation, the Riders made their way through the crowd to stand beside him, with Sabrae glaring at them. Orik left to stand with his king. The dragons soared above them dizzily, Thorn and Askanir crashing against each other twice.

The wait was gut-wrenching.

Arya decided to look around. The lanterns were dimmed to make it look like twilight was setting in, making the area appear ethereal. Nobody moved or made a sound. The only movement came from the lone plume of incense smoke dancing from the bier.

The booming bass note of a drum vibrated and echoed throughout Tronjheim, shaking the people to their core. The procession stepped forward, and the sound of another drum joined the first. The majestic sound of the drums called to them in the bittersweet procession that led them on, one foot in front of the other. If such a ritual was all because of the belief in the afterlife, then Arya hoped that the elves were wrong, and a final resting place existed for souls of the fallen, instead of them just ceasing to exist.

Hand in hand, the six Riders marched with the procession, following the tunnel until it ended. The bearers of Ajihad's body stopped solemnly for a moment between the pillars of onyx. A solemn hush fell upon everyone, and the reverence of the dwarves grew as they haded inside and beheld the remains of Isidar Mithrim.

The guilt and remorse clenched in Arya's gut, and the tears threatened to spill – both for the sorrow of Ajihad's passing, and the terrible deed that had been done in order to save Eragon and Murtagh.

The massive pieces of the Isidar Mithrim circled the center of the chamber, surrounding the hammer and star symbol. The biggest pieces are larger than even the dragons. The rays of the star sapphire gleamed, a spark of life within the fragments. Some petals of the rose were even left intact.

_I do wish that we could have done something else instead of destroying it,_ Katrina said.

Arya nodded. _I know_. She followed the procession once more, past the countless shards of the Isidar Mithrim.

They walked down the flights that led to the tunnels below. They passed through caverns inhabited by dwarves who lived in stone hunts. Dwarf children clutched their mothers, staring at the procession with wide, solemn eyes. The final boom of the drums stopped as the group halted. Above them were ribbed stalactites covering a massive catacomb.

The silence that befell them was eerie. The alcoves lying the tomb bore a name and a clan crest. Hundreds of thousands of dwarves were buried there, and Arya bowed her head in respect. She felt Eragon's hand tighten, and she tightened her grip too. _It feels like losing my father all over again._

Eragon's face remained blank. All that could be felt from him was a sense of sadness.

The bearers entered a small room that was extending from the main chamber. A raised platform on the center bore the open crypt with an epitaph. The mourners gathered around it, and the bearers lowered Ajihad into the crypt. After a while, the people who knew him personally were allowed to approach. Arya was the eigth in line, right behind Nasuada. They ascended the marble steps to view the body.

Arya gazed at the man who was about to be buried, the man who – though she knew briefly – reminded her so much of her father. He was the man who represented freedom, who fought so hard for it. Even the elves acknowledged his efforts, for they were effectively trapped in their forest until the tyrant king was vanquished.

"We will avenge you. Your efforts will not be wasted. Your son – we will help him lead Alagaesia into freedom, so you may be remembered for all time." Arya closed her eyes and turned her back on Ajihad, letting Eragon take her place.

Once everyone paid their respects, Nasuada joined Melikir by the crypt and they held each other's hands. She let out a choked sob before they sang in the strange, haunting language of the Wandering Tribes of Alagaesia.

As they finished, a dozen dwarves slid a stone slab over Ajihad, covering him for all eternity.

* * *

The sense of hollow sadness inside Nasuada began to ebb, and she slowly allowed Solaris to see more into her mind once more. She hated to subject her dragon to the same misery that she felt. She followed her friends as they filed into the underground ampitheater, ignoring the voices which talked about the funeral that transpired. She sat on the lowest tier, level with the podium, between Roran and Murtagh, with the other Riders sitting nearby. Melikir, Faolin, Hrothgar, Orik, Brom and the Council of Elders joined them. The dragons curled up on the stairs, watchful eyes open.

"Since Korgan, this is where we elect our kings," Orik explained. "It is only fitting for the Varden to do so too."

"I just hope it goes peacefully," grunted Brom.

_We're going to make a lot of fierce enemies right after this,_ Solaris noted.

_Not more than before, as I am Ajihad's daughter,_ replied Nasuada. _This means that Roran and Askanir will be sharing our enemies, though._

Several minutes passed before the ampitheater could be filled. Nasuada simply tuned out most of the speech that Jormundur made, detailing her father's feats and talked about the last time they convened, after another former leader, Deynor, died fifteen years ago. She noted that he spoke of a new leader that will win the Varden more glory.

Was that all that some people in the Varden were all about?

"Shadeslayers! Argetlam!" someone yelled above them.

Jormundur remained unfazed. "Nay, they have so much duties and responsibilities. It may perhaps be possible someday. The decision took a long time among the Council of Elders, especially as Brom does not wish to take the position. We need someone who knows are needs and wants, who has lived with us for the past years, living and suffering together with everyone. We need someone who knows everything about Ajihad's work, everything he wished to remain a secret, everything that he wished to be done."

A hush befell the crowd, and their whispers joined Jormundur's voice. "Melikir."

Jormundur bowed and stepped aside, and Faolin took his place. The elf lord smiled glumly. "The elves of Du Weldenvarden honor Ajihad tonight. On behalf of Queen Islanzadi, I, Ambassador Faolin, recognize Melikir's ascension. I extend the same support and friendship that I have given his father. May the stars watch over my good friend."

Hrothgar, then each of the Riders, gave their pledges of support to satisfy the council too. Once all of that was over, the Council of Elders lined up on either side of the podium, Jormundur at the head. Melikir gave Nasuada a long look as he rose to his feet – a mixture of fear and determination. He approached and knelt before Jormundur, a muted dark figure of sadness, hope, and freedom.

The council leader bowed in acknowledgement. "By right of inheritance and succession, Melikir has been chosen among numerous candidates. By merit of his father's feats and the blessings of his peers, Melikir has been chosen by us. I now ask you: Did we choose the right man?"

The resounding cheers of "yes" was enough, it seemed.

Jormundur nodded, pleased. "Then by the power granted to this council, we shall pass all of Ajihad's privileges and responsibilities to his eldest child and heir, Melikir." He put a silver band above Melikir's brow. The young man stood up, face grim. "I give you our new leader."

The resounding cheers of the crowd – both men and dwarves – rang throughout the place. Nasuada caught Murtagh staring at her. She stared back, noting that his hair was still sticking up the wrong way. Thorn licked it the day before, and no matter how much the red Rider did his best to flatten it, it was still strange-looking. No wonder Murtagh was irritated with his dragon.

"You're staring at me," he said with a cheeky smile. "Found something you like?"

"Your hair," Nasuada said. She felt herself flush. She should have thought better before talking out loud.

Murtagh blinked. "You're making fun of me now."

Nasuada smiled. She put a hand to his hair and fixed it up, so that it still remained quite dishevelled and yet did not look so odd anymore. "No, it's endearing. See? It's all better now. You look better that way."

Spots of pink began to color Murtagh's cheeks. Before he could reply though, Sabrae's voice cut him off. "Now is the time to fulfill your promise," she said.

Hearing her, Melikir cleared his throat. Silence fell upon the room as the slight young man straightened up, emanating a sudden aura of power and authority. "The Order of the Dragon Riders existed for so long, that it has watched kings rise and fall. They are loyal to all races, and yet must not prefer one over all others. Times change, and yet it would still be improper for all six of the free Riders to be loyal to only one faction." Hushed murmurs began to fill the room, and Sabrae's face soured. "The Varden must not trap all of them in binding, trapping oaths."

"Melikir," Sabrae said, her sharp eyes narrowing. "They made a promise before the Council."

"It does not matter, for I have ordered them to break this promise," Melikir said. "It would be improper, and I have made an agreement with King Hrothgar and Ambassador Faolin. Balance must be kept between our factions – and between the Riders. Nasuada, Solaris, Roran and Askanir, come hither."

Murtagh put a hand on Nasuada's shoulder. "Go on. We may not swear fealty, but we are of the Varden too. Your enemies are ours."

Nasuada nodded and rose to her feet. She followed Roran to the stage, where Melikir was waiting. Her brother smiled warmly. "I would also like Brom to join us," he said, as Solaris and Askanir padded to the stage to join their Riders.

Brom grunted and strode towards the group. His status as a former Rider made people whisper and point. "Go ahead," he said in his usual grumpy tone. He took out Undbitr from its sheath.

Nasuada and Roran drew their own weapons too. Placing the sword flat on their palms, the three knelt before Melikir. Without any pretense, they offered the blades to the young leader. Silence reigned for a while, and Nasuada was aware of the Council's triumphant gloating.

Brom cleared his throat. "Out of deep respect and appreciation of the future difficulties that you might have, I, Brom, former Rider and oldest surviving member of the Varden, together with Riders Nasuada and Roran, Argetlamar, give you our blade and fealty… Melikir."

Dumbstruck, the crowd before them could only stare. The other Riders – and Faolin – were grinning mischievously, though. The Council seated nearby were outraged. Jormundur blinked and nodded in acceptance, though.

One by one, Melikir accepted the three Riders' swords and repeated his words from two days ago. It felt like so many lifetimes have passed since then.

The crowd rose, shouting in approval. Dwarves stamped their feet rhythmically while men pounded their swords on their shields. Melikir grinned as he moved towards the podium, leaning over it. "People of the Varden!" The cheers died out, replaced by silent anticipation. "As my father did before me, I give my life to you and our cause…"

* * *

Murtagh barely understood what was happening as Melikir began to speak, and the crowd began to cheer once more. His mind began to wander to the gold Rider. Though it was something normal for a friend to do, it didn't stop the warm feeling from building up inside him. Something stirred in his stomach as he glanced at Nasuada.

_You do fancy her. It's not that different from a dragon seeking a potential mate._ Thorn's voice cut through his thoughts.

_Quiet,_ growled Murtagh. _I still haven't forgiven you for licking my hair._

_And letting her touch it, fix it in a way that appeals more to her? Fine, then._ A hint of amusement colored Thorn's guilty thoughts as he left his partner's mind.

Lost in his thoughts, Murtagh watched other important people make their speeches. When the crowd began to thin, Orik grabbed Murtagh's arm since he was the nearest. "Did you and your friends plan that beforehand?"

Murtagh nodded. "We had a bit of help from Brom."

"Besides," Eragon said as he joined them, "Melikir talked it out with your king and with Faolin."

"It was a smart move, but dangerous. The Council of Elders was most displeased. You earned some powerful enemies, even if you had no part in the oath-taking – defying the Council in your own way." Orik slapped the brothers on their sides and walked off.

"They'll be thirsty for revenge," Eragon groaned. "We have to leave Farthen Dur."

"Aye. The sooner, the better." Murtagh sighed.

* * *

**No more dragon parent? Whyyyyyyyyyyyy?**

**Well, Saphira's mom was featured in Chapter 1, Solaris, Luneria and Firnen's dad in Chapter 2, Askanir's mom in Chapter 3 and Thorn's dad in Chapter 4 :3 hope I cleared that up! They'll all be very important in the plot (directly and indirectly) so look out for future references!**

**Is anybody eager for some RxK action, which I haven't put much in the recent chapters? I'm leaving that for Chapter 6...**

**And don't worry about being late to the party, there's still enough ale and mead to go around... unless Saphira managed to deplete my stocks again. XD**

**Read and review! :3**


	6. Serpents and Witches

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything you see here that is vaguely recognizable!**

**Disappearing before posting a short, short chapter? Blame personal drama and a one-day hiatus XD**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Snakes and Witches**

After days of blood, tears, death and debauchery, the bath Eragon indulged in felt so refreshing. He was on his way back to the Riders' room when he found a woman waiting for him in the corridor. She didn't seem that much older than Melikir, but she was quite taller than him. Dark hair framed her soft face, and deep blue eyes peered at Eragon. She wore a pale blue dress that brought out the color of her eyes and emphasized her olive skin.

She curtsied. "Argetlam," she said in a rich, cultured voice.

Eragon nodded in return. After his travels with the other Riders – three of them being girls – he felt uncomfortable in the woman's presence. "Is there something that you need?" His eyes roved to the golden snake bracelet wrapped around her wrist.

"I hope so," the woman said with a brilliant smile. "I am Trianna, sorceress of Du Vrangr Gata – and battlemage, and spy, and whatever else is necessary for the good of the Varden. Magic users here are quite scarce and we end up with a load of tasks." Her shoulders slumped. "Actually, that was why I sought you out, Shadeslayer. It would be an honor if one of the Riders took charge of our group. With the blasted Twins betraying our group and the Varden, we have no leaders left."

Eragon smiled back. The woman was pleasantly charming, but something felt wrong. His experiences with Katrina, Arya and Nasuada helped him understand girls, and there was an artificial air in Triana's charm and friendliness. "It would be an honor, but I'm afraid that none of us could. We'll be leaving Tronjheim soon and it might need some consultations with Melikir, anyway." He did not want to add a darker thought – a refusal to be tangled in dirty politics, especially somewhere that involved the unpleasantly traitorous Twins.

Trianna let out a suffering sigh and bit her lip. She moved a step closer. "We could spend a bit of time together before that, though. I could even teach you about summoning and controlling spirits. It is a potentially – ahem, educational experience for us."

Eragon flushed. He was face-to-face with a particularly pretty woman, after all. "It would be greatly appreciated but… er, I'm a little busy." He almost flinched when he saw a spark of anger flaring in Trianna's eyes before it smothered out. He wasn't sue that it happened at all, but the sigh that followed was evidently real. "I'm curious though, as I've never met other human spellcasters aside from Brom and the other Riders before, how did you learn magic?"

Trianna gave him a bright but sultry smile. "I'm the daughter of a Surdan healer who had a spark of power. Nobody in Du Vrangr Gata could even dream of being as powerful as a Rider. Not even close. Even if two of us teamed up, we couldn't have battled Durza without being simply added to his list of kills. True, you brothers had help in the form of those… girls, but you dealt the final blow, and it is a feat worthy of Vrael himself." She leaned towards him, tall, curvacious and proud. "People are singing songs of praise about your feats. They even believe that you should take the throne from Galbatorix!"

"No. No." Eragon's temper flared up. "None of us ever had the desire to rule. We have our own fate, and we never aspired to rule."

"Wise of you. A king is tied down to his duties and would make a poor reward for any Rider and his dragon. Being free to shape the future of Alagaesia is more important." Trianna paused, her blue eyes darkening. "Aside from your dashing, ah, brothers, are there any relatives of yours left in the Empire?"

Eragon narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "My uncle – who raised all three of us – is in Carvahall and my mother is still… around."

Trianna's eyes widened. "Then you're not bethroted, then?"

Eragon frowned. "Of course not!"

Trianna stepped closer, ribbons on her sleeve brushing against Eragon's arm. "I'm sure that there's someone that you care about. You've been traveling with three beautiful girls. " She raised her wrist, displaying her serpent bracelet. "Do you like him? He's my familiar, my protector. I call him Lorga." She bent forward and blew upon the bracelet. "Se orum thornessa havr sharjalvi lifs."

The snake came into life with a faint rustling sound. It writhed around Trianna's arm and lifted itself, whirling ruby eyes fixed upon Eragon. Its wire tongue flicked in and out of its mouth. Its eyes expanded until they were as big as a fist. After a short command, it stiffened and wrapped itself around Trianna's wrist again. The sorceress sighed and leaned against the wall.

"Few people truly understand magic and those who use it," she said quietly. "There are many others like you, and we would be pleased to help if we can – especially you Shadeslayer brothers." She put her hand on Eragon's arm and the door flew open, throwing her off balance. She stumbled forward with a small yelped. She whirled around, finding herself standing before Arya, Saphira and Firnen.

The dragons were growling, but they were nothing compared to the elf girl's irritated look. "You are keeping me away from my dinner," she said through gritted teeth. "My friend here invited me to eat with him and you are taking too much time prattling on with him."

As if to emphasize her ire, Firnen's growls grew louder. Saphira lifted the side of her upper lift, revealing her jagged teeth. She growled angrily, the sound echoing through the hall. It was more terrifying than a woman's angry tirade.

Eragon watched them with thankful eyes.

Triana's fists clenched around the fabric of her dress, her face pale and terrified. She gae them a quick curtsey befor fleeing. Acting as if nothing happened, Saphira lifted a leg and licked a claw. Firnen curled up at the foot of Arya's bed again.

_Arya insisted on throwing the door open herself, _she sniffed.

_Well, you needed her help,_ agreed Firnen.

Eragon grinned. "I didn't need two dragons and an elf, though. One of you would be enough to get rid of her."

"Now, now," Arya said with a grin. "We were all quite concerned, wondering what that slattern could want with the mighty Shadeslayer. It's difficult to find a woman who's interested in you instead of Rider Eragon, Shadeslayer."

"Thank you – all of you. But why did it concern you?"

"You're a friend. It was hard to make up a random excuse to annoy her too, but I am hungry. Dinner?"

Eragon shrugged. He smiled and glanced at the dragons. "No dinner for you?"

_Later,_ Saphira said boredly. _I feel quite drowsy after the events of this day. You two little ones should go and have fun, though. We'll be keeping an eye out on things here._

"Well… if that's the case, then I'll be seeing you later," mumbled Eragon, before Arya began to pull him through the corridor.

Arya's eyes darkened as they passed a few young girls who giggled and pointed at them. Even though she was dressed in a simple white shirt and black wool pants, there was something intimidating about her. "Do you think that – that she's beautiful?" she asked.

"Well, she's pretty," Eragon muttered, ignoring Arya's glare. What was wrong with her? "She's a little interesting too, but there's something wrong about her. Besides, I've got ages – ages! – to think about women."

* * *

Morning routine felt boring to Roran. Get dressed, wander around to your heart's content, make idle conversations with people who wish to talk to you – was that what a Rider's duty consisted of? Even though he enjoyed spending his morning flying with Askanir, he hoped that there were more things to do, such as helping the Varden.

He headed down the kitchens for lunch in excitement. At least he can count on the other Riders being there with their dragons, and their group could get rowdy without causing any discomfort to each other. Even if he felt somewhat safer in the Varden, he missed their carefree days of traveling.

When he arrived in the kitchens, though, only Katrina was there. Her coppery hair was pulled back from her face, tied with a pale blue ribbon. She somehow looked older, lovelier that day. Roran felt a blush creep to his cheeks. Though their adventures toned down his nervousness around her, he was still quite aware that he was still interested in her.

She waved him over with a bright smile and he sat across the table from her, feeling suddenly very self-conscious. He forced out a nervous smile. He set down his plate of food, keeping an eye his fingers. He took a few deliberate bites of food. "I haven't seen you all morning. What were you doing?" he asked, hoping that it sounded conversational enough.

"Oh, I was going to ask you that too! You see, I was with Arya, Faolin and Nasuada this morning, we were trying to read on a few things in the library, but it was boring me so I had to go for a walk and eat lunch." Flustered, Katrina dropped her fork. It hit her plate with a resounding, awkward clang. She picked it up quickly and turned red. "I-I'm sorry."

Roran smiled. "Don't be." He looked away. "Well, I was flying with Askanir. You know, to clear my head. Things have been… different, lately."

"Oh, yes, your fealty!" Katrina nodded. She began to attack her food with such ferociousness that it reminded Roran of a dragon. "Faolin asked me if I wished to be the other Rider for the elves. I told him that I wasn't sure but that I might do it for Arya and him. They've been quite lovely friends, even if they're a little odd sometimes."

"Different races, different customs," Roran said idly as he took another bite of his lunch.

"Enough about that, how are you?

Roran shrugged. Many things have occurred since Ajihad passed. He spent a few minutes quickly finishing his meal. "The oath of fealty earned me a lot of enemies – who could also be targeting you since you still do serve the Varden."

"I know." Katrina shrugged. "I wasn't asking about that. I was asking about you."

"I'm fine. I missed sitting around the campfire, being carefree." Roran put a hand on his face. "I miss travelling, learning how to be a Rider, showing off…"

"Showing off?"

"Well, I have to impress you somehow, don't I?" Realizing what he just said, Roran shut his mouth. Warmth crept up his cheeks as Katrina's eyes widened. Before he could divert the conversation, a girl trotted towards them.

It was Eragon and Murtagh's long-lost sister, Aesyr. That made her Roran's cousin. The slim, frail-looking girl bowed to them. "R-Rider Roran, Rider Katrina," she stammered. "Lord Melikir wishes to see you. Others have been sent to fetch your other friends too. He's waiting in his father's study."

Roran glanced at the dragons. _Are you done, Askanir?_

_Of course._Askanir blinked, and cast Katrina a long look.

"We're done here," Katrina said, finally regaining her composure. She beamed widely at Aesyr. "You can go now if you want to, we know the way."

Aesyr nodded and ran off. Roran rose to his feet, casting a shy glance at Katrina before following her to Ajihad's study.

* * *

During the half-hour walk to Ajihad's study, Katrina kept shooting glances towards Roran. Ever since their conversation took an awkward turn, he stopped talking – which was a shame as it was always fun talking to him. Similar though the three boys were, there was something about Roran that made him fundamentally different from his cousin. There was the strong, mature aura of leadership that was absent from the impulsive twins. He kept them grounded, and when he spoke, hardheaded Murtagh and reckless Eragon always listened.

And it always fascinated Katrina.

As a girl from Carvahall, which was small and secluded, her chance of marrying wasn't that impossible. There were many lads from Carvahall that were near the same age as her, and she was quite close to Roran and his cousins. Many speculated that she would end up getting married to one of Horst's sons, or someone from Garrow's family. Of course, her father would have seen to it that she married someone like Albreich or Baldor.

Katrina would rather marry someone she did love, and who loved her for who she was – not for being a Rider. Would that be too much to ask?

They reached the door to Ajihad's study. Before, only two men guarded it but now there was an entire squad of them. They looked alert for any sign of trouble that could come their way. They looked ready to jup into the way of swords if it was what they had to do in order to protect Melikir. They recognized the two Riders and yet barred their way until they confirmed it to the people inside.

Melikir stood behind his father's desk, surrounded by the other Riders and their dragons. He inclined his head in greeting. "Riders," he said wearily. "The last few days were spent studying the state of the Varden."

Katrina listened to the next few minutes of Melikir's discussion about the lack of supplies and the dwarves' inability to house the Varden much longer. The plans of moving the Varden to Surda within the month was worrying, for some reason. The future announcement of the Riders allying with the Varden – and two of them swearing fealty – was even more worrying.

"As was discussed before the funeral, I was wondering about when you could leave for Ellesmera and complete your training," Melikir said tiredly. "Faolin will be coming with you, as he has many things to report to his queen as I have gathered."

"Ah, yes, I haven't learned more about contacting people from a distance," agreed Arya. "And knowing my brother, he would want to deliver the news in person."

Melikir nodded. He handed a scroll to the young elf. "And I wish to send her a missive regarding my father's death, and my wish to create a diplomatic relationship between us."

"When will we be leaving?" asked Nasuada. She crossed her arms nervously.

"Unless something comes up, you will be leaving tomorrow morning. Oh, and someone else will be accompanying you. As a way of keeping balance among our races, he is sending a dwarven representative to watch over your training, which is why he is sending Orik with you."

Katrina felt relieved. It would keep a measure of equality in the dealings that they will have with different races. Besides, Orik was such a pleasant friend and companion to have. It wouldn't even slow down their travels that much.

After a few more minutes talking about Melikir's future plans, which included beginning the attack on the Empire, the Riders were dismissed.

Katrina marched towards one of Tronjheim's gates, hoping that a quick flight would clear her mind. She wanted to stop thinking of Roran – and the confused mix of feelings that flowed inside her whenever she did. Luneria was great at distracting her. They soared around the icicles lining the side of Farthen Dur, missing the outside world.

_Farthen Dur is very beautiful,_ she mused. _But it feels different. Empty. I miss the rushing wind, the fresh air that blows every morning when Brom starts barking for us to wake up. I miss the sky. The trees._

_I know._ Luneria let out a lazy roar and breathed silver-tinted yellow flames. Darkness has truly set in by that point. _I think that the dwarves believe in gems being more beautiful. I don't know, gems feel dead sometimes. It's late. Let's go back._

Katrina nodded and closed her eyes lazily as Luneria spiralled down. Suddenly though, the silver dragon glided to the left. They stopped on a patch of white on a nearby hill. Angela, the strange herbalist, was carrying a four-foot wide wicker basket that was filled with so many mushrooms. Katrina stared at the basket as the herbalist approached. "Toadstools?" she asked blankly.

"Hello, my bright young Rider," Angela said with a laugh. She set down her basket. "Toadstool isn't the term I'm going after. Besides, they're frogstools, not toadstools…" She began spreading the mushrooms and naming them one by one. "This is the Fricai Andlat, which has a stalk that can cause instant death, and a cap that can cure most poisons. You can extract Tunivor's Nectar from this, which can cure a very deadly poison. It only grows in some caves in Du Weldenvarden and Farthen Dur. To be honest, it would die out here if the dung from Tronjheim were carted somewhere else."

With discomfort, Katrina realized that they truly were standing on a dung heap.

"Hello, Luneria," Angela said, patting the dragon on the nose. "I haven't seen you much since after the battle." Luneria's tail twitched in pleasure as the werecat, Solembumb, arrived with a dead rat in tow. They watched him nibble at his catch for a few seconds. "So… Leaving for Ellemera? I'm sure that it will be a very, er, educational experience. I will be missing you and your interesting friends. I'd love to follow you to Ellesmera but I love to be where things keep happening. That's why I'm off to accompany the Varden to Surda."

"So that means that we won't have an, er, eventful time in Ellesmera."

Angela smiled. "Be careful in Du Weldenvarden. Not all elves are like Arya and Faolin. They do not openly display emotions and it makes them deadly. They can conceal it, let it fester for years."

"You've been there?"

"Oh. Yes. Once upon a time."

"Do you think that Melikir's plans would work?" Katrina wondered. "Just thinking of attacking the Empire terrifies me."

"He's doomed. You're doomed. They're all doomed! But I won't specify the kind of doom, so I will predict whatever is happening." Angela lifted her basket with a smile. "I was joking."

"Yes, I've noticed," Katrina told her pointedly.

"I won't be seeing you for a while, so I bid you farewell. Best of luck, don't dare try roasted cabbages, earwax is unhealthy for you, and always look at the bright side of life!" Angela smiled and strolled off, followed by Solembum.

_What in the world was that?_ Luneria asked, bewildered.

* * *

**A boring, uninspired chapter. *bows and begs for your forgivness* I swear to cook up a longer chapter soon!**

**On another subject, I'm starting to write another original work. Here's to hoping it doesn't blow up again!**

**Review while Saphira is distributing the mead with her mysterious dragon magic!**


	7. The Stone Changes

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Inheritance Cycle. :'(**

**The rain makes me nervous, especially after Typhoon Haiyan.**

**Sorry for being unable to update frequently with lengthy chapters, I think I injured my hand. It hurts when I type...**

* * *

**Chapter 7: The Stone Changes**

Murtagh led the march to the northern gate of Tronjheim, Thorn lumbering sleepily behind him. Silence passed as they waited in the tunnels right outside the gates. Murtagh felt uncomfortable. He missed riding with his horse too, but flying from the Beor Mountains to the edge of Du Weldenvarden would be faster.

Eragon walked up to him as they waited, fastening his cloak over his clothing quickly. "How long will we be waiting for Orik?" he asked.

"No idea," Murtagh muttered. He drew his cloak around him, feeling cold. "I hope he arrives soon."

As if on cue, the dwarf came into view, bringing a heavy pack with him and wearing his armor, as always. "We'll be stopping at Tarnag, north of here," he said, setting down a big bundle which he was carrying. "We would then fly along Az Ragni to Hedarth."

"Oh! I know that place," Arya said, face brightening. "It's a trading outpost for dwarves and elves. I've been there before."

Orik nodded. "We would have taken rafts, but traveling on dragonback would be faster. We won't be able to do that once we reach Du Weldenvarden, though, so the elves will most likely be providing steeds."

He began to distribute the repaired armor pieces to the Riders with a smile. No sign existed of the damages caused by the battle, and Eragon's mail was even fixed so well that there was no sign of the tear that was caused by Durza's blade. Murtagh smiled as he examined his own set. "These are perfectly made," he said with a smile as he laced on his greaves and bracers.

Orik smiled. "We also repaired the dragon armor but we won't be able to bring any of those with us so the Varden will guard it until we return."

After conveying their thanks, Orik handed helms to Roran, Arya, Nasuada then Katrina. Murtagh glanced at Eragon before reaching for his own. Orik shook his head, clutching the twins' helms. "Oh, not so fast, my young friends. You must make a choice first."

Murtagh blinked. He remembered Melikir talking about two Riders for the Varden, two for the dwarves and another two for the elves. "What choice his that?" he asked quietly.

Orik held out the helmets to them, showing the alteration on the brow. Etched upon the steel were the hammer and stars – the symbol of the Ingeitum, the clan that King Hrothgar and Orik belonged to. "King Hrothgar wishes for me to present these to you, as symbols of his friendship with the new generation of Riders. He wishes to adopt you both as members of Durgrimst Ingeitum, as a member of his own family."

Murtagh stared at Eragon. _He really means it, I think._

_ Aye. Does this mean that we'd be subjected to his rule, though?_ Eragon frowned. _We're not loyal to the Varden in the way that Nasuada and Roran are though, but if we were, we would be incapacitated._

Murtagh grinned. _We would have been unable to do a thing without breaking an oath or another,_ he agreed.

_Well, you don't have to put them on,_ Thorn grunted.

Saphira gave him an icy stare. _And risk angering Hrothgar? Wise move._

Murtagh tapped on his nose. _It could be simply a gift –a sign of otho. It might not be a trap, simply a way of thanking us for offering to repair Isidar Mithrim and maintain the balance of the races._

"How often was this done?" Eragon asked Orik.

"Never for a human," Orik told him. "Hrothgar had to argue with clan leaders and Ingeitum families for an entire day and night for you tobe accepted. You will have all rights of a clan member if you do accept the offer – attend councils, voice out on anny issue. If you wish to, you can also be buried with our dead," he finished softly.

_There could be no greater honor,_ Eragon mused.

The brothers moved forward and took their helms from Orik, pressing it swiftly upon their heads. "We are privileged to join Durgrimst Ingeitum," Murtagh said with asmile.

Orik smiled and handed stones to the brother, asking them to prick their wrists and let a few drops of blood wet their own Knurlnein – Heart of Stone – before reciting an oath.

"The other clans might moan about this business but you acted with integrity and they must respect that," Orik muttered as they finished. He smiled. "So, as we're of the same clan now and you're my foster brothers, King Hrothgar would have presented the helm and called for a great ceremony followed by feasting but the events wish for other things to happen. We will celebrate properly once you return to Farthen Dur. Feasting and dancing and… papers to sign."

"We will be looking forward to that," Eragon said with a sagely nod.

Orik sat against a pillar and crossed his arms. Silence reigned for a few minutes until he glared at Tronjheim. "Barzul knurlar! Where is your brother, Arya? He said he would be right here!"

"You know that elves' concept of time is only late and much later," grunted Arya.

"But you're an elf too!" Roran told her.

"Not a regular elf, my friend."

"Have you dealt with them much?" Katrina asked Orik. She put an arm around Luneria's neck idly.

"Eta. It has always been only with Faolin, and even that was not frequent since he travelled a lot. I've learned only one thing in seven decates. Never rush an elf." Orik shrugged. "They will break, but never bend. They're like files that you're trying to hammer, that way."

Murtagh frowned. "Aren't dwarves the same?"

"Stone shifts if you give it enough time." Orik grinned. "Elves rarely change. It's why I felt reluctant to go."

Arya smiled, a faraway look in her eyes. "My brother always said that being unchanging might be the cause for the elves' downfall. It's why the elves who make a difference are always Riders, or end up as one."

"Just like you, huh?" Murtagh grunted.

"Not sure about making a difference, but I'm not exactly like other elves, as you may have noticed."

"Does this mean that we'll get to meet Queen Islanzadi, see Ellesmera and who knows what else?" Eragon asked eagerly. "Was a dwarf ever invited into Du Weldenvaden?"

"A change of scenery is insignificant," Orik complained. "So many other important things must be done in Tronjheim and other cities, yet I must scamper across Alagaesia, exchange pleasantries and grow fat while I watch you get tutored – and that could take years!"

"Years? Still, if that's what we need in order to handle Shades and the Forsworn, there's no other way," Murtagh mused.

_Don't worry about that. I don't think that Melikir will let us be away for more than a few months at most. I mean, I think we'll be needed soon._

"There they are!" Orik said happily.

Melikir strode towards them, his black cloak flowing from his back like a blanket of the night. Jormundur, Brom and Faolin walked behind him. The elf lord was bringing a traveling pack, dressed in his usual black clothing and armed with his sword. His usual absent-minded grin was gone, replaced by a mask of calm.

"Oh, you accepted," Melikir said. He smiled at Faolin grimly. "You'll be paying me when you return."

"You do know that I am very unlucky in betting," the elf lord said with a groan.

Brom grunted at them. "Lads, there's no need to bicker," he said. He glanced at Eragon and Murtagh with what seemed like pride in his eyes. "You accepted the offer, I presume. Hrothgar is a most gracious king, and treats his clan well. Family is not something he takes lightly. You should be honored."

"Have a good trip, my young Riders," Jormundur said. "Please, guard yourselves well."

"Well, we must go now," Faolin said with grim nod. "Aiedail has set, and we're going to travel far today."

Orik procured a red lantern and smiled. "Well, this should be interesting."

"Riders, dragons, I wish you a safe journey," Melikir said, eyes gleaming in excitement. "You have the Varden's blessings and mine. The hope of Alagaesia rests on your shoulders so please act with honor all the time."

"We will not disappoint you," Nasuada said. The conviction in her voice made Murtagh want to believe her with all his heart.

His sense of adventure being sparked, the red Rider clambered up Thorn's back, and the massive dragon marched through the gates at the base of Farthen Dur. They followed a well-proportioned tunnel that was lined with columns that held bright lanterns for the first fifty feet until it became still and silent. Murtagh smiled. It was similar to the western tunnel, which led to open space. This one was to pass through mountains, all the way to the city of Tarnag.

Murtagh took a deep breath as they plunged into the darkness. They would be traveling in eternal night until they reached Tarnag and when they did, they would be thrust headlong into another adventure. His more rational self warned him of hidden dangers and threats. His more adventurous side scolded him, though.

_Our destinies as Rider and dragon are never certain, _Thorn told him, reading his thoughts as always.

_I know,_ Murtagh told him. _I just hope we're doing the right thing._

* * *

**Expect a longer chapter soon, where we'll be hearing with Garrow! Did you miss himmmmm? :3**

**My hand hurts so much, so I'll be addressing questions next chapter instead. I'm sorry, guys, and thank you for you reading this and putting up with me! 3 I love you all so much.**

**Saphira's having a hangover, so she's crazy for reviews! Yummy yummy beef is appreciated too. XD**


	8. The Second Act

**Disclaimer: Nothing familiar here is mine.**

**Yay! No more hand pains! To celebrate, I wrote all of this but the last page in one sitting because I got sidetracked by reading about Bridezillas in Etiquette Hell.**

**I'm posting this now, apologizing in advance since I might not be able to frequently post until New Year. Christmas and New Year (and the eve before both days) are pretty big celebrations here, spent with both sides of the extended family, so I'll be very busy even once I'm out of work for the holidays.**

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**Chapter 8: The Second Act**

Three days have passed since the Forsworn arrived and Garrow was feeling more and more uneasy. His camp in the Spine was unnoticed and yet he has heard nothing from the village since Albreich visited. He couldn't get anything from his view of Carvahall. The dragons swooped dangerously close a couple of times but they never spotted him.

There was something dull and broken within those beasts, and he was just thankful that they were not as bright and alert as the young Riders' dragons. He had no idea how to pass the time after eating a small, dry lunch. It felt like a test of patience, and he hoped he would win.

Shooting arrows at rotting logs became his new pastime, until he broke an arrow on a rock by accident. He stopped and spent his restless energy on walking around his camp – until he heard footsteps. Armed with nothing but his bow and arrows, he hid and began to wait. When Baldor's face came into view, Garrow moved out o fhis hiding place and waved the boy over.

"We couldn't come," Baldor panted, wiping sweat off his face. "They've been watching us too closely, the soldiers… Couldn't get away until now, but it won't be long either." He glanced at the peak with terrified eyes. "Staying here… you're a brave old man. Has there been any trouble with wild animals?"

"No, not right now," muttered Garrow. "What I'm interested right now is if those damned soldiers said anything new."

"Since you're a fugitive and all, one of them was bragging last night in Morn's tavern that they were all specially chosen for this. They're not a quiet bunch. They keep getting drunk every night and some of them already tore up Morn's common room – and that was just on the first day. Didn't even pay for the damage."

Garrow clenched his fist. He glanced at the distant village with sad, troubled eyes. "I have no idea why they would want to capture me again. I can't give anything to them anymore."

"A number of villagers were questioned today, including us." Baldor looked down. "None of us talked but you might want to consider turning yourself in."

Garrow glared at him, and the timid boy seemed to shrink. "I'd rather burn and take them along with me. They tortured me and would have done the same to my sons – even worse."

"Even if you stay hidden, they won't just give up and leave you alone. They might even think that we lied and let you escape – and you know that the Empire never forgives traitors. The entire village will be destroyed!"

"I can't leave you to be blamed but I can't lead them away. My days as a woodsman are far behind me, and I cannot evade thirty soliders – and two Riders. My sons could, but I can't. But I can't let someone get hurt because of me. Knowing the Forsworn though, they might become impatient and threaten someone else who could be injured by their dragons or their magic… We have to think of something."

"It's not a pretty situation."

Garrow intended to survive. He endured one of the elven Forsworn, he had to resist two more. He watched Baldor depart after a bit pmore of small talk, and began to wander through the path, barefoot as dusk began to veil the land. The moon slowly began to rise, its milky light casting a sheath over the shadowy mountains.

That was when he noticed something going on in Carvahall. Lanterns broke through the hazy darkness, moving from house to house. From the distance, they looked like fireflies headed for the center of the village. They then slowly streamed towards the edge of the village and to the line of torches by the soldiers' camp. He watched the scene for at least two hours, watching the lanterns bobbing against the steady light of the torches, before the groups dispersed and headed back to their homes and tents.

The following day, Garrow watched the strange activity in Carvahall. People flitted from house to house, and to the farms dotting the valley. Two men even entered the soldiers' camp and disappeared behind the Forsworn's tent for an hour.

It was right after dinner when Baldor arrived, the lad looking exhausted. The lines under his eyes were uncharacteristic of him. "Quimby's dead," he muttered. "Some soldiers were bothering Tara last night." Tara was Morn's wife – a very friendly woman who was close to Marian. "It wasn't a problem but they fought over who was to be served next, and Quimby tried to break them up, as usual."

"Typical Quimby, interfering so that he can be assured of everyone's proper behavior," grumbled Garrow. His mood was turning darker by the minute. "How'd it happen?"

"A soldier threw a pitcher – hit him on the temple. He died right then and there."

The farmer, who was a part-time brewer at Morn's, was a common face in Carvahall and an important member of the community. How could he be gone just like that? "What happened after that? Were the men punished?"

"The Forsworn took his body and hauled it to their dragons. We tried to get it back but they won't talk. I'm afraid that the dragons ate it. Dad and Loring finally managed to convince them to release the body but the soldiers won't be facing punishment." Baldor shuddered. "I was about to leave when they handed him over. All his wife got was bones – every one nibbled clean of fresh and cracked open for the marrow."

"The dragons must have eaten him," Garrow muttered. He fought back the sudden churning in his stomach, caused by disgust. A person's spirit could never rest until the body received a proper burial, and Garrow felt horror for Quimby's fate. "Desecration."

"The soldiers weren't pleased with it either. Those dragons are not like the ones from legends – they're monsters."

Fear echoed through Garrow's being – the fear of the supernatural. Nothing normal could break something as mighty as a dragon. The lad in front of him reflected this very fear, hands clasped in quiet prayer to any god, known and unknown. Even if Galbatorix's dark feats were known through the land, facing it firsthand was another thing. Like it or not, the entire village of Carvahall was now involved in things that were once merely the stuff of songs and tales. "We have to do something about that."

When night began to wane, the air began to grow warmer. The full force of spring heat finally encased Palancar Valley by the afternoon, bringing a false appearance of peace to Carvahall. Fear and resentment was thinly veiled throughout the village – capable of breaking anytime. Still, the day proved dull, and nothing could be done by Garrow all day but brush his mare. That night, he laybefore the sky, watching the stars above the pines.

The moon was close to setting when he woke up to the scent of smoke. It hurt his throat and he coughed as he rose to his feet. His eyes burned and watered as he struggled to breathe through the fumes. He broke camp, saddled his mare and rode up the mountain in the search for clear air. That was when he realized that the smoke was climbing with him, and he began to ride through the forest instead. He did his best to maneuver in the dark until he found a ledge that was free of the smoky air.

Lungs finally clear, he began looking for the source. He spotted the source of fire and cringed hen he did. Carvahall's hay barn was covered in vivid violet flames and drab brown ones. The remains of its charred contents whirled above them in faint amber hues. Garrow felt choked as he watched the events before him. He wished he could help with the bucket brigade and yet, he needed to stay concealed.

He watched in horror as a spark landed on Delwin's house, setting the thatched roof on fire, and leap to Fisk's roof. Garrow could only watch in horror. Mishandling fire was a hanging offense in Carvahal. It was another matter if the soldiers – or the Forsworn – caused it. Garrow feared that the dragons were the ones which set it on fire, and anger coursed through him. What if the Forsworn were punishing Carvahal for shielding him? It would mean that he was responsible for that.

By dawn, the flames got extinguished and those that weren't at least burned out by themselves. Blaming himself for his cowardice, Garrow retreated to his camp, angry and upset, subjecting himself to troubled dreams.

Albreich visited by dusk, grim and tired. "Come with me," was all he said.

"Is something the matter?" Garrow tensed, aware that they may have decided to give him up. After all, he could be the cause for the fire and the villagers would want him gone. It might even be necessary, as nobody in Carvahall should be expected to sacrifice themselves for him. He won't allow them to easily give him up, though. He would rather fight for it.

"The soldiers started the fire because Morn banned them from the Seven Sheaves. Scumbags still managed to get themselves drunk and dropped a torch into the hay barn on their way back to their damned camp." Albreich sighed. "Gertrude handled the burns, and we tried to negotiate with the Forsworn but they just spat on us and refused to control their soldiers. Didn't even want to replace our losses and let the guilty ones face justice."

"Then why should I return?"

"Hammer and thongs." Albreich chuckled. Anger lit up his blue eyes. "We need your help to, er, remove the Forsworn."

"Lads, those are Riders. RIDERS!" Garrow's eyes widened. "They can easily destroy us."

"This concerns the entire village now. Besides, I think their madness has stripped them of some powers. You should at least meet Father and the others. Be glad that you've got a chance to get out of these cursed mountains."

Silence reigned as Garrow decided. "It's either this, or run for it. I can run later."

The two men sneaked into Carvahall, using everything from trees and brush to shadows in order to conceal themselves. They reached Horst's forge eventually, quietly slipping inside the dimly-lit workshop. Horst stood inside, arms crossed, together with Delwin, Gedric and Loring. Young men from the village were also there – Baldor, Loring's three sons, Parr and Quimby's thirteen-year-old son, Nolfavrell.

Horst nodded to Garrow with a grim smile. "You made it, I see. No misfortune befell upon you from the Spine?"

"Sheer luck."

"Ah, yes. Loring, if you may…?"

The shoemaker's eyes darkened. He gazed at the window. "We tried to reason with these Riders – these Forsworn, but they refused to reason with us. I simply cannot believe that they think like we do. They are not in the right state of mind." He wheezed. "I do not think that they can still feel any remorse for what they are doing, only revel in our misery and the chaos that they cause. These elven monsters…"

"Elves are not monsters," Garrow said, remembering the girl named Arya. "These people are simply monsters."

The men scowled and nodded. Delwin gave them long looks. "Everyone's life is as take as a result of this. If we were unable to contain that fire, many would have been killed, and survivors would have lost their possessions. We wish to drive these Forsworn away from Carvahall. Will you join us?"

Garrow remembered the Riders' account of their rescue attempt. "Not even six dragons and seven people could drive away one of them and his dragon. What can we do against two? We can barely fight, we can't use magic. We have no dragons. Besides, what if we do succeed? The king might send all six of them to destroy the entire village – no, the entire valley!"

We can't just sit and wait for them to destroy the village either. We can't let them abuse us, we must strike back," Horst told him gravely.

Loring nodded with a rich, hearty laugh. "We must fortify first, before we fight. We will make them regret the day that they set foot on Carvahall and tried to make our lives miserable."

The men began to distribute shovels, pitchforks and anything else that might be used to drive away the soldiers and the Forsworn. Garrow strode to his pack, where his old sword was tied to. The pale yellow sheath was a little painful to look at, but he drew the blade and smiled. He won't use it – not now that he was past his prime. He picked up a flail.

"Scare, not kill," Horst said quietly. "We might have to break some bones but we can't be carried away. Don't even dare stand and fight even if you feel brave or heroic. We're against Riders and trained soldiers."

The men, equipped and grim-faced, marched out of the forge and towards the edge of Carvahall. After quiet, personal prayers, they headed to the camp, which was eerily quiet. Soldiers, aside from the four patrolling sentries, were asleep. The dragons themselves were dozing by the fire. After quick orders from Horst, Albreich and Delwin ambushed two of the sentries while Garrow accompanied Parr to attack the other two.

Flail in hand, Garrow held his breath as he followed the clueless soldier, terrified of the sudden energy in his body. He hid behind a house, body shaking. He had to hold on until Horst made his signal.

Horst ran out of his hiding place with a loud yell. He led the charge to the tents while Garrow moved forward with a swing of his flail. The sentry yelped as the weapon crunched against his shoulder. The man yelled in pain, dropping his halbered and staggering back as Garrow struck his ribs and his back. He retreated, screaming and asking for help.

With a shout, Garrow ran after him as fast as he could, ignoring the wool tent he knocked in. He smashed the top of a soldier's helm as the man began to emerge out of his tent. He almost bumped against the cackling Loring, who was jabbing his pitchfork at the soldiers. Confusion and chaos was evident throughout the place. Garrow hit a soldier who was trying to string a bow, and used his flail to smash the wooden weapon. He laughed as the soldier fled.

The dragons let out a mighty roar, rising to the air, unable to do anything but circle the area. They can't risk attacking without destroying the camp and killing their own partners.

The two Riders stepped out of their tent looking disheveled but still fair, as elves often were in their tales. Both of them had a fractured look in their eyes – as if something was broken in them. Their iridescent blades were out, but before they could attack or cast a spell, Baldor unleashed the horses after them.

Formora let out a cry, the female elf looking enraged as she dodged the horses. She regrouped with Kialandi, only to be swept away by the fleeing soldiers. The dragons roared and flew after them, growling viciously at the villagers.

_We just want you to feel so great and victorious, so that your destruction will be more bitter,_ a mad voice said, resonating through the men's minds. _You would make a good dinner – that human was just an appetizer. We shall rally our other kin to partake in this delightful feast._

Garrow winced. "Dragon," he said. "They're going to fetch the other Forsworn."

Carvahall blazed into life as lamps began to light up shuttered windows. Entranced, Garrow watched the people mill around to look for the source of the chaos.

Soft sobbing broke the muffled silence. Quimby's son, Nolfavrell, knelt by a dead soldier, stabbing him aimlessly in the chest as he tried to fight back his tears. With a jolt, Garrow felt pain inside him, and guilt. His own sons weren't that much older than Nolfavrell, and yet the one before him was but a boy.

"He shouldn't have come," he said as Gedric and Albreich pulled the lad away from the corpse.

"It was his right," Horst said. "Killing a soldier means that it will be harder for us to get rid of those bastards."

"We have to make barricades – the road and the space between houses. We can't let them attack us by surprise." Garrow watched Delwin bandage his arm with a strip of his shirt.

After organizing the group, Albreich and Baldor ran to the forge to retrieve Quimby's wagon from the forge, with Loring's sons accompanying Parr to search for items which can be used in securing the village. While that happened, people began to gather at the very edge of the field, eyes scouring the empty camp and resting upon the dead soldier.

"What just happened here?" asked Fisk.

Loring straightened up and strode towards the carpenter. "What happened? Well, let me tell you." He smiled in childish glee. "We routed them all, those dung-headed milk drinkers! We caught them with their boots off, whipped them like dogs!"

"Good to hear!" Strong-voiced Birgit said, flicking back her auburn hair as she wrapped her arms around Nolfavrell. She ignored the blood smeared across her son's pale face. "They deserve to die. Cowards killed my husband, they shall pay for it."

Thane stepped up, eyes flashing. "You're mad, Horst! The Forsworn are not frightened of you, even if the soldiers are. They have dragons, you idiot! Galbatorix might send the rest of his blasted Riders after us, and they won't give up until they have Garrow."

"Then let's hand him over," Sloan said with a sneer.

Horst raised his hands to get their attention. "It's true that none of us is worth more than the entire village and yet, Galbatorix won't let us escape because of our resistance even if we surrender Garrow to him. We'll be no better than the Varden for him."

"But why in the blazes did you attack?" Thane demanded angrily. "Who gave you the authority to decide upon dooming all of us?"

Birgit growled, removing her hands from her son's face. She showed them her blood-stained palms, as if accusing. "Would you let them kill your wife, burn us? What happened to your manhood, loam breaker?"

"Those blasted milk-drinkers burned my farm, kidnapped me to drive away my sons and Katrina, let those dragons devour Quimby and wished to destroy the entire village," growled Garrow. "They won't think twice about tearing apart and destroying our families. We can't just let such crimes go unpunished. If we do, we're no more than frightened rabits, cowering and awaiting our own doom. We must stand up and defend ourselves." He watched Albreich and Baldor stride towards them with the wagon. "We shall debate later. For now, we prepare and defend. Who is with us?"

The forty or so men who volunteered took the task of making Carvahall impenetrable, and it wasn't exactly easy. Garrow worked with them, nailing fence slats between house, using rock-filled barrels to make makeshift walls and using logs to block the main road with two tipped wagons. He hurried from one chore to another, his mind filled with thoughts of Roran, Murtagh and Eragon. He knew that they were young and had so much thrust upon their hands. What if the king caught them, or sent the other members of the Forsworn after them?

Garrow moved to tossing water on the thatching of Kiselt's house in order to prevent it from catching fire when Parr began to shout.

"Forsworn!"

The female, Formora, stood just out of bowshot far down the road, dressed in her full armor. She stood tall and proud, a one hand grasping a torch, the other drawn back, as if to throw something. Her pale hair fluttered in the slight breeze like wisps of moonlight.

"I hope she's not going to toss rocks," muttered Albreich.

"Magic! She's going to –" Garrow began, but was cut off as Formora yelled out a word of power and flung her arm out.

A white-hot ball of fire flew from her hands and blew up the wagon to the men's right. The very hot air threw Garrow back, slamming him against the wall. Gasping for breath, he dove aside as Formora raced into Carvahall between the fiery wagons, followed by Kialandi. They laughed madly, fiery blades flashing as they hacked their way through the people around them. Three men fell before Horst and Loring pressed the two madmen back with their pitchforks. Before they could do more, soldiers poured in, adding to the mayhem – and they had to be stopped.

Garrow hit a soldier on the face with his flail, and the soldier crumpled. Other soldiers rushed towards him so Garrow grabbed the fallen man's shield and barely managed to block the first strike. He wasn't as strong as he used to be but a rush of energy surged through him as he backstepped towards Kialandi, parrying a blade. He swung his flail up and smashed the man's chin.

"To me!" he roared. "Defend your homes! Rally to me, Carvahall!" He sidestepped some swords as five men tried to circle him. Albreich and Baldor strode towards him, followed by Loring's sons. Soon many others accompanied them while women and children pelted the invaders with rocks. "Stay together! There are more of us!" Garrow yelled as he stood his ground.

As the scores of villagers thickened, the soldiers halted. As the number swelled to a hundred, Garrow led the advance.

"Attack those sons of a sandworm!" cackled Kialandi, as he dodged Loring's pitchfork with supernatural speed.

An arrow whizzed towards Garrow and he blocked it with his shield. He grinned as the Forsworn drew level with the soldiers, frustrated. Powerful though the milk-drinkers were, the sheer number of the villagers overwhelmed them. One of the Forsworn uttered a word of power, and Garrow felt his body grow heavy and unable to move. Even his thoughts began to grow sluggish as fatigue began to overwhelm him.

Birgit roared from behind, and a rock flew overhead, straight towards Formora. The mad elf dodged with her speed but the distraction worked. Garrow picked up a rock, praying that the surge of strength in his body wouldn't leave. He raised the rock and threw it full-force. It bounced off Kialandi's shield, barely denting it, but the attack did its job too. The final traces of the Forsworn's spell broke. The two elves yelled at each other angrily in their strange language as the villagers surged forward.

"Retreat!" Kialandi roared. The warriors followed the two Riders as they backed out of the village, stabbing anyone who dared come close. They only turned their backs once they were far from Carvahall and the burning wagons.

Body aching, Garrow bowed his head once he realized that Parr and nine other men died. The cries and wails of mothers, wives and daughters broke the sudden silence.

"Everyone! Come!" Baldor yelled.

Garrow followed everyone to the middle of the road, where Kialandi stood with a smile. The elf's brown hair had come loose during the fighting, and there was a scar on his forehead from a gash that he obviously healed with magic. His deep green eyes gleamed with madness. "As brave as your son and nephews, it seems. Only you and your kin would have the gall to resist a Rider."

"What do you need from us?" Garrow growled.

Kialandi laughed. He nodded calmly, the madness in him simmering beneath the surface. "Enduriel is livid but my mate and I? We are simply here for information. Release Garrow and you will simply be sold as slaves. Resist and protect him? The rest of our order are coming with their dragons, who will be more than pleased to devour you. You must be ready with an answer when we return, and make sure that it's the right one."

* * *

**A kind-of filler, this starts the second act of our story! For those wondering why, just why, the Forsworn aren't using their amazing powers, well, something happened in the Fall that broke their minds in different ways. And their dragons are too crazy to be of much help too. Yep, our heroes will be dealing with the crazies!**

**And yep, Askanir and Luneria will probably end up with each other too ;) Because dragons end up reflecting the affections of their Riders heehee!**

**Did you miss our Riders? Well, we'll be catching up to them next chapter, thankfully! I wonder if none of them managed to blow up someone else's pants while Garrow is busy defending Carvahall..?**

**Askanir is really, really pleased with your reviews and is therefore throwing a big dragon party on Dragon-mas! Keep 'em coming! XD**


	9. Enemies of Stone

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but my ideas.**

**A short chapter, it didn't even reach my 3000-word target! But I just _had_ to update, because I might not have the chance again until the interim between Christmas and New Year.**

**Soooo...**

* * *

**Chapter 9: Enemies of Stone**

Roran's eyes hurt. The doors before them were dragged open, and light filled the tunnel. Eyes unaccustomed to daylight after his time underground, he raised a hand to cover his face. The dragons hissed and shifted themselves in order to better see their surroundings.

Two days were spent in traversing the underground tunnel that led from Farthen Dur, though everyone kept complaining that it felt longer than that. After all, the darkness and silence around them felt like it would never end at all. Nobody spoke much, even Eragon and Murtagh, who often chatted a lot during their journey with Brom.

Roran hoped that he could spend the time to talk to Katrina more, but they were all too tired to make much conversation. The only time that he could remember talking to her was the previous night, when he was about to take the first watch.

"I'm a little nervous," he confided in her, as she was setting up her bedroll.

She smiled at him, her copper hair flickering in the dim tunnel. "There's nothing to worry about. We're far behind our enemies, unless we have some among the dwarves of Tarnag." She leaned over to brush off some of Roran's hair away from his face.

Roran felt his cheeks burn. He glanced at her uncomfortably. "You didn't have to do that, but thanks."

Her smile was nothing but beautiful. "I was no problem," she said softly. She gazed at the dull red lamp by Roran's feet. "I miss Carvahall, but I'm also thankful to be away from it. Now that I'm close to sixteen – close to being a woman – father will be pressuring me to meet suitable husbands and making arrangements with them. I would have said yes and let him, before I became a Rider."

"Being Riders have taught all of us a lot, eh? So you want to choose your suitors, then?"

"True." Katrina laughed softly as she removed Luneria's saddle and rubbed the silver dragon's snout. In the darkness, the butcher's daughter seemed to glow. "I won't have any of that now. True, I'm a Rider, but I'm not going to picky about suitors because of that. It's because I want to marry someone that I really love. Someone kind of like you."

"What?"

Katrina shrugged. "It would be interesting to have someone like you as a potential husband," she said. "Though of course, I was kidding. Now, I must sleep. Wake me up in an hour."

Roran forgot that as he followed his friends to the threshold, excited to see their destination. They ended up standing on a granite outcropping that was right above a pale violet lake that shimmered like Askanir's scales under a bright eastern sun. It was just like blue Kostha-merna, stretching from mountain to mountain and sealing the end of the valey. The Az Ragni flowed north, winding between peaks until it rushed out onto the eastern plains, far, far away.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Eragon said with wide eyes.

"Aye," Roran said with a grin. "What a view."

To the right was nothing but a few trails, while the dwarf city of Tarnag was to the left. The unchanging Beors were transformed by the dwarves into a series of terraces. The lower ones acted as farms and squat halls made of pure stone. Tiers of interlocking buildings buildings culminated in a massive dome made of gold and white – as if the city was nothing but steps leading to that place. Its milky dome looked like a giant piece of polished moonstone set upon a pyramid made of gray slate.

"Ah, Celbedeil," Orik said wistfully. "It's the greatest dwarf temple and home of the Durgrimst Quan. They act as servants and messengers to gods."

"Saphira wants to know if they rule Tarnag," Eragon said.

"No, no." Faolin made his way to stand with them. "They're strong and powerful clan both politically and religeously, but they're also small. They're quite rich, though. The Ragni Hefthyn – or River Guard – controls Tarnag. Their clan chief, Undin, will be our host."

They followed Orik and Faolin off the outcropping and entered the forest of gnarled trees that covered the mountain. "He's still a little sore from meeting the Quan previously. He is eager to learn our culture but the priests of Tarnag somehow dislike him even if he means them no harm."

"That's… a little harsh." Roran muttered.

"Aye. The elves and dwarves have a long history of disagreements – especially since elves believe in no gods, but Faolin here has an open mind. Our priests dislike him simply because of his race, though."

"I missed being out in the open!" exclaimed Murtagh.

Roran smiled. The sun was warm, could smell the forest and the insects swarmed pleasantly. It was a beautiful day. They followed the path right to the edge of the lake, where it rose back to Tarnag's open gates.

"How did you hide this place from the king?" asked Eragon. He wiped sweat off his brow. "Farthen Dur is very easy to hide, I guess, but this is something very unusual – in a good way."

"Lad, that would be impossible," Orik said with a soft laugh. He shook his head. "We abandoned our cities aboveground after the Fall. We fled to our tunnels to escape Galbatorix and the Forsworn, since they kept flying through the Beors and killed anyone that they saw."

"But didn't dwarves always live underground?" Murtagh asked.

Orik frowned. "You lads ask a lot, don't you? And besides, why should we always live underground? We do have an affinity with stone, but the open air is as sweet to us as it is to elves and humans. We've only started returning to Tarnag and our other during the last decade and a half, since Morzan and the rest of the surviving Forsworn began to stay near Uru'baen. They haven't ventured far from the major cities for fifteen years – until that visit to the village of yours. It was strange behavior, but I think it started when Brom disappeared. They all had to be on their guard and prepared to meet him in the open if he made his move."

_Are they afraid of Brom?_ Askanir made Roran ask.

"Afraid would be understating it," Faolin said from in front. "They think that he has powers hidden right under his sleeve. I mean, he had clashed with the Forsworn many times and lived to tell the tale. He is not as powerful as them, especially since his dragon is dead."

"Aye, and he managed to kill five of the currently dead Forsworn. One of the other two died during the Fall, and the other one committed suicide seventeen years ago in a fit of madness." Orik led them to a small mound.

As they reached the top, an animal crashed through the underbrush. Roran stepped back in surprise and stepped on Arya's boot.

"Please try your very best to lose weight," the elf girl said, eyes watering. "That hurt."

"Sorry," Roran muttered. "Won't happen again.

The animal looked a lot like a mountain goat back in the Spine, but was a third larger and had massive ribbed horns curling around its cheeks.

_An Urgal would be envious,_ Askanir noted.

Roran agreed. _They'll probably go on a rampage just because this goat has a better – and bigger – set of horns, eh?_

He saw the saddle lashed across the goat's back, where a dwarf was sitting with a half-drawn bow. "Hert durgrimst? Fild rastn?"

While Orik answered in his own tongue, Roran's eyes settled on the goat, who stared at the dragons warily. _It seems quite intelligent, though its face is quite comical._

Askanir snorted. _It does have a frosty beard and that over-solemn expression. Very much like a dwarf._

_It is their land, so I suppose the animals are very dwarvish too._

Without any visible command from the dwarf, the goat leapt forward. The distance it covered was quite large and it seemed to momentarily take flight. It vanished with its rider between the trees.

"What exactly was that?" Katrina asked, eyes wide.

"That's a Feldunost," explained Orik. "It's one of the five unique animals that you can only find in the Beor Mountains. We have one clan named after each of them. Durgrimst Feldunost is the bravest and most revered, though. We depend on the Feldunost for milk, wool and meat, and without them, we can't live here in the Beors. Durgrimst Feldunost risked themselves – still do, as a matter of fact – to tend to our herbs and fields when we were terrorized by the traitorous Riders. We are still in their debt."

"Do all dwarves ride these Feldunost?" Arya asked.

"Only in the mountains. They're quite hardy and sure-footed, but they would do better in cliffs than open plains."

As they walked, Eragon seemed to have a small mental argument with an annoyed Saphira. _Feldunost must be tasty,_ Askanir said. _But the dwarves might get angry._

The path was concealing them under dark boughs for a while when they finally entered the clearing that surrounded Tarnag. Groups of dwarven observerce flocked the fields as seven Feldunost wearing jeweled harnesses leapt out of the city. They had riders that carred pennant-tipped lances that snapped like whips when the Feldunost moved. Their leader reined in his strange beast, saying, "Thou art welcome in our city, Tarnag. Upon the otho of both Undin and Gannel, I, Thorv, son of Brokk, offer our peaceful halls as shelter." He had a grumbling, raspy accent that was very different from Orik's.

"By Hrothgar's otho, we of the Ingeitum accept your hospitality," Orik responded.

"As do we, in Melikir's stead," Nasuada said with a charming smie.

"And as do we, in Islanzadi's stead, finished Faolin.

Appearing satisfied, Thorv signalled his fellow Riders. Together, they spurred their feldunost around the group of newcomers. The dwarves rode off with a flourish, guiding the group through the city gates and into Tarnag. Eyes wide, Roran gazed at the thick outer wall, forming a shadowed tunnel that led to the first of the numerous farms belting Tarnag. They passed through five more tiers guarded by fortified gates, carrying them past the fields and into the city itself.

The buildings within the thick ramparts were made of stone too, and yet were shaped so skillfully so that they appeared very graceful and light. They turned left, to a massive hall pressed to the very side of the mountain protected by two towers with projecting galleries.

A group of armed dwarves began to make their exit from houses, forming a thick line to block the street. Their faces were concealed behind long, purple faces and were draped over their shoulders like a mail coif. The guards reined in their Feldunost with hardened faces.

* * *

"What's going on?" Nasuada asked.

Orik shook his head and moved forward with a hand resting on his ax. A veiled dwarf began to argue harshly with Thorv in their own language, though respect still somehow showed itself through Thorv.

Murtagh tried to shift to the side just to get a better view of the queer dwarves past Thorv's Feldunost, but the one arguing with their guard began to jab at his helm with a horrified expression, before yelling in Dwarvish again. This earned Orik's ire and their friend moved forward, drawing his ax. He spoke in a quiet but threatening voice.

The dwarf gave Orik a long, hard look. He removed an iron ring from his pocket and plucked three hairs around his beard – which he twined around the ring and threw on the street before he spat after it. Without another word, the strange dwarves filed away. The other dwarves flinched as the ring bounced across the granite pavement, and Faolin stared at it with horror. The younger dwarves went white as they reached for their blades before Thorv prevented them with one growl.

The dwarves' reactions was more unsettling than the angry exchange. Nasuada never saw anything like that happen in Tronjheim – nor did she see any purple-veiled dwarf before. She watched Orik walk forward by himself to deposit the ring in a pouch. "What was that all about?"

Thorv shook his head. "It means that you have enemies, Rider."

They marched hurriedly through the tower and into a wide courtyard that contained three banquet tables. Vivid lanterns and banners decorated it. A group of dwarves stood before the tables. One of note was one wrapped in wolf pelt. He spread his arms proudly. "Welcome to Tarnag, the home of Durgrimst Ragni Hefthyn. We have heard of many good things about you, Riders. I am Undin, son of Derund and clan chief."

A second dwarf stepped forward. This one had the body ofa warrior, with hooded black eyes that lingered on the Riders' faces. A flicker of distaste passed his face as he gazed at Arya's enthusiastic face. "I am Gannel, son of Orm Blood-ax and clan chief of Durgrimst Quan."

The irritation from six ignored dragons flashed through Nasuada's mind, esspecially her bonded partner's. _Patience,_ she growled to all six of them. "It is an honor to be your guests," she told the dwarves.

The clan chiefs greeted Faolin – with much discomfort on Gannel's part – and Orik, who responded by extending his hand and showing them the iron ring on his palm.

Undin's dark eyes widened as he lifted the ring cautiously. He pinched it between his thumb and forefinger, as if afraid that it could be venomous. "Who gave this to you?" he asked quietly.

"Az Sweldn rak Anhuin," Orik replied simply. "Not to me, but to Eragon and Murtagh – and in extension, to the other Riders and their dragons themselves."

Nasuada watched alarm spread across the faces of the other dwarves, and Nasuada felt unease settle in her stomach. Lone dwarves could face group upon group of Urgals without fear. The ring must have meant something dreadful if it could break their courage.

Undin round, listening to his muttering advisers before saying, "We must consult on this issue. Riders, we have prepared a feast in your honor. If you would allow my servants to guide you to your quarters, you can refresh yourself and we might begin."

"Of course." Taking lead, Nasuada herded her friends as they followed a guide into a wall. She looked back, seeing Faolin and Orik following the clan chiefs with heads pressed close together. She caught Solaris' eye. _We won't be long. Then we can talk as much as we want._

_Oh, take your time. We have a lot of things to discuss here too._ Solaris paused. _Thorn and Saphira are understandably more upset than the rest of us._

_Being members of a dwarf clan, they should. I think that threat is more dangerous for them than it is for the rest of us._

Nasuada crouched through the dwarf-sized corridors, smiling as Roran and Murtagh cussed whenever they bumped their heads on the ceiling. The room assigned to her was luckily spacious enough for her to stand freely. The servant bowed and said, "I shall return when Grimstborith Undin is ready."

Once she was truly alone, Nasuada took a deep breath to calm her nerves. The veiled dwarves left her shaken – too shaken to relax. Luckily, they won't stay too long in Tarnag so they won't be hindered by that. She peeled off her gloves and headed to the marble basin set right next to the low bed and put her hands in the water. She yelped and jerked her hands out because the water was almost boiling. Realizing that it might be a dwarf custom, she waited for it to cool before scrubbing her face and neck clean.

She felt better as she took off her traveling clothes and switched them for the clothes she wore to her father's funeral. The good thing about them was that they were good enough for any formal situation, from a feast, to a meeting with leaders and even for a funeral. She touched her sword and belted it on with her hunting knife.

She had to look good and intimidating enough as a Rider.

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**Shamelessly plugging my PJatO fic called The Weapons Thief. :3**

**Oh, and the Banishing of Names didn't happen here, but the state of the Forsworn is still quite bad which is why they're still REALLY, REALLY AX-CRAZY.**

**Thank you for reading as far as this chapter, you guys! :D I'll do my best to post longer stuff once the double holiday celebrations are over! :3**

**The dragons wish you a very, very happy holiday season and hope that you enjoy it! :3**

**Liked this chapter? Don't be shy now and leave a review. 3**


	10. Among the Dwarves of Tarnag

**Disclaimer: The Inheritance Cycle is not mine.**

**It's the day after Christmas and I'm baaaaack! Here's to hoping you guys had a great holiday! :D**

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**Chapter 10: Among the Dwarves of Tarnag**

When the dwarven servant fetched the Riders once more, it was merely an hour or so past noon. Even if it was the case, the sun was already concealed by the looming peaks, plunging the city into a premature dusk that made it seem more ethereal. The dwarven lanterns bathed the streets with unwavering white light that made the whole valley glow.

Eragon found them beautiful, and found himself wondering about the state of his home in Palancar Valley.

Undin and the other dwarves were waiting for them in the courtyard, with the six dragons taking places on one side of a table. Nobody was interested in disputing their choices. Eragon rushed towards Saphira, who was seated between Firnen and Thorn.

_Has anything happened?_ He asked.

_Undin had the gates barred with extra warriors. I believe that he's concerned about the possibility of attack from those queer kin of his._

"Riders, please join me," Undin said. He gestured to the seats to his right. The Riders seated themselves and the clan chief did so too, seating himself right beside Eragon. The rest of the group hurried to follow them. Orik beside Nasuada at the end of the group, and Faolin sat across the table from Arya, who was sitting beside Eragon. The elven and dwarven ambassadors both looked very uncomfortable and very worried. Before anyone could talk, Undin slapped the table and yelled, "Ignh az voth!"

Servants began to stream out of the hall with platters of beaten gold, piled with various meat, pies and fruit. They divided into columns for each table and laid the dishes gracefully. The feast was amazing. Soups, stews, roasts, bread and cakes were presented first, beside eel, trout and urns of cheese. There was a swan set on each table, surrounded by stuffed partridges, geese and ducks. Mushrooms were cooked in every imaginable manner possible – broiled strips, adorning a bird's head, carved as castles, and so much more. There were numerous varieties in all sorts of colors.

Eragon's eyes widened as they revealed the centerpiece of the feast – a massive roasted boar that glistened with sauce. It was a massive one though, with a carcass as large as a horse. It seemed equally heavy as six dwarves were needed to carry it. Its ivory tusks were longer than Eragon's forearms, its snout as wide as his head. The strong, appetizing smell that accompanied it was mouth-watering.

"Nagra, or giant boar," explained Orik. "You must truly be honored, young Riders, for only the bravest of our men dare to hunt Nagran. Therefore, it is only served to those who have great valor – and it may be a gesture that he will support you over Durgrimst Nagra."

"Is this an animal native to the beors?" Arya asked. "What are the rest?"

"We have forest wolves that are big enough to prey on Nagra, and have the speed to catch Feldunost. We've got cave bears calle Urzhadn – which the elves call the Beorn – who have lent their names to these peaks even if we do not use that name ourselves. The names of these mountains remain a secret which we share with no race."

"Smer voth," Undin commanded with a placid smile.

Servants moved forward, small curved knives drawn. They cut portions of the Nagra and set them on everyone's plates – except Faolin's – and even gave weighty pieces to the dragons. With a smile, Undin took a dagger and sliced a bit of his meat. Orik gave the Riders a look that stopped them from reaching for their knives. Undin chewed slowly and exaggeratedly, rolling his eyes and nodding as he swallowed. "Ilf gauhnith!"

"Now," Orik said, turning to his meal as conversation began throughout the table.

Eragon was surprised. He had never tasted anything that came close to the boar – juicy, soft and oddly spicy, as if it was soaked in honey and cider. It was enhanced further by the mint flavoring. Eragon caught Saphira's eye. _I wonder how they managed to cook something so large…_

Saphira began to nibble on her Nagra. _Very slowly. Else the inside won't be cooked properly._

_Since when did you learn about cooking?_

_ Your memories, naturally._

Orik began to explain between bites. "It is custom stretching back from the days when poisoning often happened among clans, for the host to taste the food and declare it safe for his guests to eat."

Aside from sampling the numerous dishes, Eragon spent his time conversing with the other Riders, Orik, Faolin and the numerous dwarves farther down the table. Due to the size of the feast, hours passed by quickly and it was late afternoon by the time it ended. As servants filed in to remove the tableware, Undin turned to the Riders. "The meal pleased you, yes?"

The Riders expressed their gratitude and awe of the delicious meal, pleasing their host.

"Your words gladden me." Undin's eyes focused on one Rider after the other. "I had the tables moved outside yesterday so that your dragons may dine with all of us."

Eragon felt himself grow cold. He knew not if it was intentional, but Undin treated the dragons as nothing but mere beasts. He intended to ask about the veiled dwarves in private but out of a desire to unnerve Undin, he cleared his throat. "On behalf of the other Riders and our dragons, I thank you." He paused. "Sir, why did they throw the ring at us?"

A painful silence crept over the entire courtyard as Orik winced. Faolin smiled mischievously at him and inclined his head in understanding.

Undin set his dagger down with a scowl. "Those knurlagn you met came from a tragic clan. They were among the oldest and richest families in our kingdom before the fall of the Riders. They made two mistakes that sealed their doom, though. They lived right in the western of the Beors and volunteered their greatest warriors to serve Vrael." His voice cracked with anger. "Galbatorix and his cursed, vile Forsworn slaughtered them in the city you now call Uru'baen and flew upon us. Many died that day. Only Grimstcarvlorss Anhuin and her guards survived from their clan, and she soon died of grief. Her men took on the name Az Sweldn rak Anhuin – or The Tears of Anhuin – and covered their faces as a reminder of their loss and the desire for revenge."

Shame filled Eragon. He felt himself flush, and did his best to keep his face calm and neutral.

"And so, they rebuilt the clan throughout the decades. They waited and hunted for the justice they wanted. You and your brother now come with other Riders, the two of you bearing the mark of Hrothgar's clan. It is the biggest insult that can ever be done to them. Your feats back in Farthen Dur does not matter to them. The ring they threw is the ultimate challenge. It means that the entire Durgrimst Az Sweldn rak Anhuin will forever oppose you with every resources they have in every single matter, be it big or small. They are your blood enemies, set against you fully and without hesitation. As your companions, this extends to all six Riders and your dragons."

"Do they mean us bodily harm?" asked Murtagh. He shared a worried look with Thorn.

Undin's gaze momentarily faltered as he gave Gannel a long look. He shook his head and laughed gruffly. "Of course not, young Shadeslayer! Nobody – not even they – would ever think of daring to hurt a guest, even if this guest is a blood enemy. It is forbidden in the laws of every race, is it not? They only want you gone, gone, gone. Let us have no more talk of these matters. Gannel and I have offered you all with food and mead, as a symbol of our friendship. That is what matters, yes?"

"It is appreciated."

Eragon glanced at Saphira. _What?_

_ They're afraid and resentful, little one._ Saphira's eyes grew solemn as she shuffled closer to Eragon. _They have been forced to accept the assistance of Riders._

_They fight with us. Not for us._

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Murtagh woke up early, unable to sleep more. He was plagued with fitful dreams that involved dwarves wearing purple veils, and he did not like it one bit. He found himself pacing his room restlessly as the dawn – concealed by the mountains surrounding Tarnag – was beginning to break. He was already dressed for the day, Eldsvard hanging from his belt. The sheathed red blade made him feel more secure for some reason.

_We are never safe until this war is over,_ said Thorn. The dragon was lounging in the courtyard, eyes lazily trained on the sleeping Solaris.

_I know,_ Murtagh replied. _This helps for now, though._

_Those purple dwarves may be as small as the rest of their race but they might be dangerous enemies – as dangerous as Galbatorix and the Forsworn._

_True. They did not even give us a chance to talk and explain._

_ They have made themselves enemies to our group, and we won't take that lying down. Right?_

_ We can't risk offending the dwarves._ Murtagh sat on his bed, and the two lapsed into companionable silence.

When he arrived in Undin's main hall that morning, the clan chief was there with Orik. The two were talking in Dwarvish and broke off as he approached. Undin smiled. "Shadeslayer. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes."

"Oh, good." Undin gestured to Orik. "We were discussing about the possibility of your departure. We were hoping that you might be able to spend more time with us, yet the circumstances are against us. It might be best if you were to resume your journey tomorrow morning, in an early time where few are in the streets."

"They are already seeing to it that we have supplies and transportation. Hrothgar has decreed that we must fly swiftly to Ceris." Orik glanced to the north with uneasy eyes.

"What will we be doing for the meantime?" asked Murtagh.

Undin shrugged. "I hoped that I could show you the wonders of Tarnag, but Grimstborith Gannel has invited you to Celbedeil for the day. Accept if you wish, some of your friends are already there. You will be safe with him." It seemed like he forgot what he said the previous day – that Az Sweldn rak Anhuin will never mean them any harm as guests."

"Thank you. I will be on my way," Murtagh said. He turned and left the hall, followed by Orik. They stopped once they were out of Undin's earshot. "Please, tell me the truth. How serious is this feud?"

"Your brother asked me the same question earlier," noted Orik. He paused for a moment. "Blood feuds endured for generations most of the time in our past. Many families were driven extinct due to this. Az Sweldn rak Anhuin has been very rash if they turned to invoking the old ways. Nothing like this has ever happened since the last of the clan wars. You must guard yourself against their treachery, whether it is for a year or a century – until they withdraw their oath. I am truly sorry that your friendship with my uncle and his adoption has caused this. You are not alone. The entire Durgrimst Ingeitum will stand with you, your brother and the other Riders who are also our allies."

Once they were outside the hall, Murtagh parted ways with Orik and approached Thorn, who was still coiled in the courtyard. The other dragons were flying around the city, no doubt terrifying and unsettling many of the residents. Murtagh put a hand on his partner's head. _Hey, do you mind if I visit Celbedeil?_

_Go if you want to,_ Thorn replied lazily. _Just stay armed and ready._

Murtagh relayed his conversation with Orik, adding, _I know that Hrothgar meant well by inducting us to his clan but it has caused a lot of trouble for us – even those that have not been adopted by him._

_No good thing goes unpunished, Murtagh._

Murtagh averted his eyes. _I know. I couldn't have declined. It would offend Hrothgar. Besides, it truly is an honor._

_Never doubt your decisions. They might save your life someday. Besides, those veiled dwarves might still hate you enough to cause a blood feud, even if you did not join the Ingeitum. That's worse._ The ruby dragon opened one eye and let out a mighty yawn. _We have many enemies, even among the people that our allies belong to._

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**A short chapter? Sorry, I really am bent on updating twice before New Year's Eve, during which we will be busy cooking, cooking, cooking (and visiting the entire extended family from both parents).**

**Don't you just feel uncomfortable when someone peeks on your PC and laptop monitor? -.-**

**We'll be having our tour of Celbedeil next chapter! Which pairing needs more action? Tell me, and you just might see them next chapter!**

**Read and review, as always! :3**


	11. Departure

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Sorry for the very short chapter which should have been uploaded DAYS before this, a lot of things came up. T.T I promise to make it all up to you next chapter, which will be featuring the mighty village of Carvahall.**

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**Chapter 11: Departure**

After spending time in Celbedeil, Katrina has learned many things. First: Dwarven priests did not like elves at all. Though Arya showed eagerness to learn more about the gods that dwarves worshipped, Gannel merely treated her with condescending respect that made the lone elven Rider fall quiet and stand at the very back of the group. Of course, the religeon and beliefs of the dwarves themselves were only lightly discussed to everyone except Eragon and Murtagh, who were eventually separated from the group to learn more extensively.

Second: The dwarven priests fought with a staff-sword similar to the one that Angela used in the battle of Farthen Dur – and none of them liked the strange herbalist. Apparently, she won her staff from a priest after a game of riddles. The problem is that the staff-sword called the huthvir can only be used by the priests themselves.

Third, according to Arya – who heard a thing or two from Faolin before – it seemed like the priests of Celbedeil have used their position of power for material gain.

Before leaving Celbedeil, the six Riders received gifts from Gannel – pendants that protect them from scrying at the cost of their own energy. The twins, as members of Durgrimst Ingeitum, received hammer-shaped ones while the rest were simple circles. Faolin fetched them shortly, stating that Undin decreed for them to stay behind his walls until their departure. Apparently, the citizens of Tarnag were against them now due to the actions of Az Sweldn rak Anhuin.

Due to that, they were surrounded by a dozen warriors as they walked through the city. A mob of angry, shouting dwarves could be spotted on a lower tier, and one of them even tried to toss a rock – which skipped over a nearby roof. A plume of smoke rose from the edge of the city.

_Not good,_ noted Arya.

Katrina nodded. _It won't do us good for us to last much longer in this place._

They hurried to their own rooms, putting on their armor quickly before packing up their things. Katrina belted on Skymning. She even slung on her quiver and carried her shield. She checked everything in her pack and saddlebags before heading to Undin's courtyard.

The Riders found themselves sitting against their dragons for the long wait. Luneria gave Katrina a look of concern. _Are you well? Tarnag looks like an overturned anthill._

_ I know. I'm fine, and I hope we don't get bitten._

Faolin soon joined them, wearing the strange, graceful armor that elves prefered. "I believe that they're worried. The crowd might try to shoot your dragons when we take off."

"We can fly high enough," Katrina pointed out.

"Yes, but not immediately. That may be enough for one of them to injure someone. If they try to stop us, we might have to wait for their rage to subside." The elf's eyes gazed at the sky blankly. "I guess it was inevitable. The clans have always been quite argumentative. If something pleases one clan, it will offend another."

"Well, that teaches us to be careful before accepting offers from leaders," Eragon said as he settled down beside Saphira.

"But then again, it was the only viable choice that you could make. It's not your fault. If someone must be to blame, it must be Hrothgar for offering it in the first place. As king, he must know the repercussions that this choice will cause."

Nobody spoke for a few minutes. Katrina dozed on Luneria's foreleg until six dwarves armed with bows marched into the courtyard.

"Are there any other elves outside of Du Weldenvarden?" Eragon kept asking.

"Aside from my sister and me? I am not so sure anymore. I used to travel with my best friend, Glenwing, to transport the dragon eggs between Du Weldenvarden and Tronjheim. Last year, our queen asked Arya to accompany us, so that she may learn more about the different races and be able to take over my duty should I be… needed somewhere else." Faolin paused. "Glenwing perished during Durza's ambush. He was a proud warrior who used to speak birds with his mind, listening to a flock of songbirds. He was like a brother that I never had. His sister will be inconsolable."

"Sister?"

Faolin's eyes turned misty. "Her name is Niduen – a good friend of ours and the best weaver in Ellesmera." He rose to his feet. "You must rest. We will be spending the next few days traveling."

_He pines for that Niduen,_ noted Luneria.

_Oh, hush. It's not our place to pry,_ Katrina said before promptly falling asleep.

* * *

There was a hint of light in the sky above them, even if the valley itself was veiled in shadows until around midday. Murtagh was awakened by Thorn. The dwarves were already awake, bows strung. The other Riders were busy saddling their dragons, and Murtagh hurried to emulate them. Once everyone was prepared, Undin and his warriors circled them, arrows nocked on drawn bows.

The clan chief strode towards them with a grim look in his eyes. "Here we part, young Riders. We will do our best to keep away anyone who wishes to harm you as you take of. It is not a matter for gratitude. It is my duty as I was shamed by the hatred of Az Sweldn rak Anhuin, which has shortened your stay and darkened it."

The Riders bowed and Murtagh took his place on Thorn's back. Orik settled with Nasuada while Faolin clambered atop Firnen with Arya. Dawn was approaching when the dragons spread their wings and took off. The dragons spiralled above Tarnag, which was blissfully empty aside from some dwarves that seemed sullen.

_It's a wondrous place,_ acknowledged Murtagh. _A shame that we're not too welcome among its people though._

The dragons veered towards the Az Ragni, which glittered dimly in the faint light._ We cannot please everyone,_ Thorn noted as he began to fly lower and lower, towards the river itself. With a mighty roar, he plunged into the water – ignoring his Rider's protests, naturally.

As dawn approached, the dragons began to use the river to drift to their destination, lazily lounging, waiting for light to fill their sight and to orient themselves better.

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**Barely 20 minutes before January 1 ends, and let me take this time to greet all of you a very happy New Year! I sincerely wish that 2014 is as weird as 2013 was and that we will all have a great year ahead!**

**Expect more pairing action en route to Ellesmera! And yes, the dwarves are very... illogical. Ingrates, they are.**

**Thorn is quite startled by the New Year firecrackers and almost tried eating one. Huh. Anyway, read and review as always! 3**


	12. Looming Shadows

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything from the Inheritance Cycle**

**Hello guys! I'm baaaaack! The problem with having little to no proper attention span is that I get sidetracked by things while writing (Looking at LoL evilly)**

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**Chapter 12: Looming Shadows**

Anger for the Empire coursed through Garrow as he heard the pained, agonized moans of the men who were injured in the battle with the Forsworn and soldiers the previous night. His fear and rage kept surging into his body all the time, leaving him shaking feverishly and breathing heavily. Sadness and pain filled his thoughts. The deeds of the king's men have ruined the memories he had of the village.

Seething, Garrow left the healer, Gertrude, to tend to the wounded. He headed to Horst's house, eyes raking over the makeshift barriers used to fill the gaps between different buildings. Boards, barrels, rocks and the ruins of the wagons magically destroyed by the Forsworn weren't enough to look sturdy.

Few people moved through the streets of Carvahall, and they all bore the same blank look that spoke of their shock, grief and exhaustion. Of course, Garrow was tired too – more tired than he was when he worked in his farm all day. He hadn't slept the previous night and his entire body ached from the fight. He made his way to Horst's house and spotted Elain.

The smith's wife stood by the open doorway leading to the dining room, listening to the conversation going on inside. She caught his eye, nodded and motioned for him to come. Of course, he did. The prominent villagers put it upon themselves to decide the next action that the village must take. Should they punish Horst and his allies for causing the hostilities to open up?

It has been going on for most of the morning, and has caused much worry for the village. Garrow peered into the room and spotted Birgit, Loring, Sloan, Morn and many other villagers seated around the table, presided by Horst at the head. Kiselt was berating them for the "stupid and reckless" act which endangered the village – which they had no cause for doing.

Luckily, Morn cut into him with a wave of his hand. "You've been saying that all morning," he told the bony man. He glanced to the rest of the group. "What should have been done does not matter anymore. Quimby is a good man, and is my friend too. I don't want to think of what they want to do with Garrow either. What we need to decide upon is what we must to do to get out of this situation."

"Kill the soldiers?" Sloan asked slyly.

"Right, then that will mean that they have to send more men until the crimson tunics flood our valley." Morn shot him a dirty look. "We can't surrender Garrow either – it won't do any of us any good. You heard Kialandi. He told us that we'll be killed if we protect him and enslave us if we don't. I don't know about you but I do know that I'd rather die free than live as a slave. We can't survive."

"Well, we could leave. Something. Anything." Fisk crossed his arms.

"We have nowhere to go," Kiselt snapped. "We're trapped by the Spine and our road is blocked by soldiers. Even if we get past them, we're just entering the rest of the Empire."

Thane pointed angrily at Horst. "It's all your fault! Our homes will be burned, our children murdered all because of your harebrained schemes!"

Horst stood up so quickly that his chair tobbled backward. "You have no honor, man. You just want to sit back and let them burn us?"

"The only other option is suicide," Thane growled. He stood up, glared impressively at the table and stormed out without giving a second glance. Fear filled his face.

Gedric eyed Garrow and waved him in. "Hurry, come in. We've been waiting for you."

Garrow lowered his head and moved in, aware of the several pairs of hardened eyes that followed him. "How may I help you?"

"I believe that we have come into an agreement that nothing will be accomplished by surrendering you to the Empire – and it doesn't matter if we decide to or not if it isn't the case. What we must do now is to be ready for their next attack. Horst will make spearheads and any other weapon that he can, while Fisk volunteered to make the shields. We're very lucky that his carpentry shop wasn't damaged. We need someone to work on the defenses, and it would be great if you agreed to do it. Many will be more than happy to help."

Garrow idly noted that Thane was most certainly not helping. Kiselt looked outright mutinous and Sloan was – well, he was being Sloan. That didn't matter. "Of course. I'll do my best."

Tara stood by Morn, towering over her husband. She was a tall, large woman with black hair streaked with gray and strong hands that can twist off a chicken head as easily as separating brawling drunks. "You have to. We might end up with more funerals if you don't. Horst, there are men to bury before we proceed. We should also send the children to safety – maybe to Cawley's farm on Nost Creek? You have to go too, Elain."

"But I won't leave Horst," explained Elain.

Tara bristled. She crossd her arms. "The village is no place for you – not when you're five months pregnant. Before you know it, you've lost the child, running around like you do."

"It would do me better than it would if I worry, not knowing what's happening. I have borne my sons and will bear this child. I will stay – like you and every other wife in Carvahall will."

Horst moved to his wife and took her hand tenderly. "I wouldn't have you anywhere but beside me." With a pang of sorrow, Garrow missed Marian more than ever. He could barely recall the last time he held her, assured her, smiled at her. "The children must go though. They will be well cared for by Cawley but we must clear the route to his farm."

Loring cleared his throat. "No man – not one blasted man jack – should have anything to do with the families down the family 'side from this Cawley. They can't help us even if they want to. Those bastard desecrators will trouble them for it."

After agreeing to him, the meeting was adjourned and the men left, going throughout Carvahall with their own tasks. In the end though, they all gathered with the rest of the villagers in the small cemetery behind Gertrude's home. Ten corpses cloaked in white were lined before their graves, a sprig of hemlock on their chests and a silver amulet around their necks. Garrow silently wondered if he would be one of those men, had things been a little different.

Gertrude strode forward and recited the men's names, starting with Parr's. She placed black pebbles over the eyes before she raised her arms and lifted her face to the sky. She began the death lay, tears freely flowing from her eyes. She sang softly, sincerely of the phrases known to every villager, sighing and moaning, reflecting the sorrow of the village as she sang of the earth, the night and the ageless, inescapable sorrow of humanity.

Silence reigned momentarily after the last mournful note. After a few speeches of praise and love from family members, they buried the bodies. Garrow gazed at the anonymous mound containing the dead soldiers. One killed by Nolfavrell, two dying by Garrow's own hands. He felt the sensation of killing again and had to fight off the bile rising from his stomach. He can't be sick – not in front of the entire village. He never wished or expected to kill before, but he managed to kill more than any one villager in Carvahall. He felt drenched – marked – by blood.

To clear his head, he left the funeral as soon as he can. He didn't even bother to stop by and speak to some of the villagers. He climbed to a point high enough for him to survey the village and think of ways to protect it. He considered a defensive perimeter but discarded it. Nobody could easily fortify the spaces between buildings that are too far apart. Having soldiers fight against the walls of these houses would trample the gardens too. The Anora River was sufficient defense for the western flank but the rest of the villagfe couldn't even keep out a child. He needed something that was strong but can be built in just a few hours.

He strode to the middle of the village, taking care not to sprint away outright. "I need every free person to help me cut down trees!" A minute of silence passed before men began moving out of their homes and through the streets. "Come on now, there's more of us than that! We all need to do our part and help, right?"

The group grew, and one of Loring's sons – Darmmen – headed straight for him. "Plan?"

"Yes, my boy, plan." Garrow addressed the men. "We need to construct a wall around Carvahall, preferrably as thick as we can. I'm figuring that we can get some big trees and lay them on their sides, sharpen the branches. I think we're facing Riders which are not the brightest apples of the bunch, and this will hinder them."

A man named Orval raised a hand. "How many trees will it take, you think?"

Garrow gauged the size of the village. "Fifty – sixty trees if we can." Some of the men began to swear and started arguing. Garrow counted them men swiftly. "Wait! There are forty-eight of you. If you each fell one tree in the next hour, we're almost done. Can't you do that?"

"Are you taking us for children?" Orval hollered. "I was ten when it last took me an hour to cut a good-sized tree!"

"How 'bout some brambles?" added Darmmen. "We could drape them over the trees. Haven't seen any person who can climb through knots of thorny vines without suffering – especially, um, down there."

Garrow nodded and clapped the young man's back. "Brilliant, lad! Those of you with sons may want to have them harness your horses. You know, to drag the trees back." With a nod, the group dispersed throughout Carvahall to grab axes, saws and anything else that might be useful. "Darmmen, make sure that you keep tree branches along the trunk. Else, our plan might not work."

"You're not coming with us?"

"I'll be working on another line of defense." Garrow nodded and left. He headed for Quimby's home, where Birgit was working on the windows, boarding them up.

"Yes?" she asked in a perfectly controlled, neutral voice.

Garrow quickly informed her of the plan regarding the trees. "I was planning to have someone dig a trench inside the tree fortifications, slow down anyone who succeeds in going through, maybe also put some pointed stakes…"

"And? What do you want me to do, Garrow?"

"I was hoping that you could organize every woman, child – everyone else you can – to dig. I can't handle it all alone and we don't have long." Garrow firmly looked straight into her eyes. "Please."

"And why, pray tell, are you asking me?"

"We both hate the Forsworn. I know that you will do everything in your power to stop them – destroy them if you can."

"Aye." Birgit's eyes softened momentarily before becoming steely once more. "Very well, as you wish. Never think for one moment, Garrow, that you and your family have caused my husband's death even if you did not mean for it to happen." For a woman who was baarely thirty-three, she looked positively intimidating. She nodded and left.

Garrow understood her animosity. He expected it, knowing that she lost her husband because of them – directly or indirectly. He ws lucky enough that she did not decide to start on a blood feud. He shook his head sadly and headed for the place where the main road led into Carvahall. It was naturally the most vulnerable place in the entire village and therefore needed more protection. The Forsworn can't just blast their way in like they did before.

With Baldor, he began to excavate a ditch across the road. "I must go soon, though," the young man told him. "Dad needs my help at the forge."

Garrow merely nodded in acknowledgement. His mind whirled with memories of the soldiers' deaths – the look on their faces as he struck them, as they met the horrible realization that they were about to die. He hated the feeling of smashing bodies like rotten stumps. He felt nauseated and sick to the core. Just what would it feel like, then, to be one of the young Riders traveling with Brom if they were to fight bigger battles than he would?

Once Baldor left, Garrow finished the thigh-high ditch by himself before heading to Fisk's workshop. After securing the carpenter's permission, he took five logs from a pile of seasoned wood, pulled them to the man road with the use of hroses and tipped them into the trench to make an impenetrable barrier between Carvahall and the enemies.

He was packing down the earth around the logs to keep it sturdy when Darmmen trotted toward him. "The trees are ready. They're being put into place as I speak."

"Well, let's see them, then."

They headed to the northern edge of the village, where twelve men were aligning four lush green pines. A team of draft horses were being led by a young boy, returning from the foothills. "Most of us are helping to retrieve the trees," explained Darmmen. "It inspired the others so well that they're quite determined to chop down the rest of the forest when I left."

"The extra timber might help," agreed Garrow. His mind was already whirling with the possibilities.

Darmmen showed him the pile of dense brambles which were sitting on Kiselt's fields. "From the area along the Anora," he explained. "We can use them however we want, I'm sure we can find more."

Garrow clapped him on the arm before heading to the eastern side of Carvahall. A long line of people – women, children and men – were working in the dirt. Birgit was issuing orders as impressivel as a general while also distributing water among the diggers. The trench was already five feet wide and two feet deep. "I'm impressed," Garrow told Birgit.

The woman nodded, brushing back her hair without sparing him a glance. "We plowed the ground to soften it before starting. It made everything else easier."

"Is there any free shovel that I can use?" Garrow asked.

He was redirected to a mound of tools at the other end of the trench. He spotted Sloan digging into the soft loan with a terrifyingly furious, obsessive energy. What was he trying to do, destroy the earth? His eyes were wild, teeth bared in a feral grimace. Dirth and filth flecked his lips.

Garrow shuddered and hurried past the butcher, hoping to avoid his gaze. Shovel in hand, he plunged into the softened soil and did his best to focus on the task at hand. He had to forget his worries – even for just a little while.

The rest of the day was spent in a rush of activity, with not much breaks spared for eating or resting. Their work increased the size of the trench both in size and depth, until it spanned the area around two-thirds of the village before reaching the edges of the Anora River. They managed to pile up the loose dirt on the inside edge of the trench to create a high ground that is difficult to jump over and climb out.

They finished the tree wall early in the afternoon, so Garrow had to stop helping in the trench digging to assist in sharpening the numerous branches which overlapped and interlapped everywhere that they can. They also began to affix the nets of brambles and pulled out trees every now and then to let farmers drive their livestock into the safety of Carvahall.

With a smile of triumph, Garrow straightened up and marched to Horst's house, where he armed himself with his flail and returned to the entrance to the village from the main road. Baldor and two others kept watch there.

"Wake me up when you must rest, lads," he told them. He headed to a grassy patch under the eaves of a house, arranged his weapons so that they lay within reach and closed his eyes. He drifted off to sleep in no time.

* * *

**Going to get a lot of action in Carvahall next chapter, and hopefuly catch up with the Riders. With no Katrina to be abducted, how do you think will the battle in the valley play out?**

**Faolin's more upset than he lets on, and I hope I could write some stuff involving him and his lady.**

**I could seriously imagine light reflecting off the wet Thorn's scales. :3 'Tis a pretty view, right?**

**Will be starting to read fics regularly again this week, hopefully the awesome schedule allows it!**

**Thorn needs to dry off for now and is looking forward to your reviews!**


	13. A Misty Future

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. NOTHIIIIIING!**

**After a bland chapter that barely deviated from the original, I'm back with a vengeance ten pages long in Calibri, font size 11!**

* * *

**Chapter 13: A Misty Future**

Garrow woke up a few hours before sunset to find the valley blanketed by dark, murky storm clouds. The villagers were all in various stages of rest. Some were clustered around massive nets woven from wires, brambles – anything that could be used to deter or weigh down a dragon who flies over the wall.

"It was my idea," admitted Baldor. He looked at the sky. "Though if the enemy told us the truth, there aren't any dragons around – for now. They'll be back with reinforcement soons, though."

"I know. Best be prepared," Garrow told him. "Good job."

Rain began to pelt them as night began to fall. The thick layers of dark clouds filled the place with a heavy mist that plunged the place into freezing temperatures. The trench was muddied and then filled with water as time began to crawl.

The men guarding the walls switched, relieving the previous guards and letting them rest. Spears were distributed among all the able men. Nothing else happened as the night passed, and the stormy rain abated by midmorning. A faint drizzle still sprayed from the sky, though. Garrow was soaked to the bone when he marched to the barricade at the main road to accompany those that will replace the guards in the area. Even with his hooded cloak, it took effort to ignore the bitter cold.

Anger filtered through his anxiety. He hated the Forsworn and what they stood for. He hated the Empire, for trying to tear his home apart. Most of all, he hated Galbatorix, who was the root of all their misery and troubles.

Seeing the children helping their mothers weave more nets sent a pang of sadness and worry to him. He could imagine Roran, Murtagh and Eragon running around with them with handfuls of wire and ropes, hollering to each other to keep up. It would never happen. The three boys were somewhere on the other side of Alagaesia, doing whatever it is that was needed to defeat Galbatorix and his remaining Forsworn once and for all.

He hoped that they were safe.

The rain began to pound on them again, but Garrow stayed in his post until he grew hungry and Larne, Loring's youngest son, took over for him. He moved through the eerily quiet village to get himself a meal. He rounded a corner and saw Albreich on the house's porch, arguing violently with a group of men.

"You're blind, Albreich," Ridley growled. "Follow the cottonwoods and they'll never see? You took the route only a fool would take!"

"Why not try it if you want?" snapped Albreich.

"Then I will!"

"How about trying to taste the arrows, then?"

"Maybe we're not all as clubfooted as you are, Albreich," argued Thane.

Albreich snarled. "Are you that thick? I'm not the kind of person who would compromise the safety of my family by covering myself in few leaves that I never saw before." When the only response from Thane was for the farmer to redden angrily, Albreich pushed him further. "What? Did the Forsworn cut off your tongue?"

With a roar, Thane charged, striking the younger man on the cheek with a fist. Albreich laughed tauntingly. "A woman can do better than that," he growled, grabbing Thane by the shoulder and hauling him off the porch – and into the mud. The man lay on his side, stunned.

As quick as his aging body could, Garrow ran to Albreich's side, brandishing his issued spear to prevent the other men from attacking. "Stop it! Are we going to fight among ourselves like little boys, now that we're in a crisis?" Thankful for the chance to channel his fear, worry and anger, he took a deep breath. "We can call an assembly to settle this and provide compensation to which it is due but we can't fight like children."

"Easy for you to say," Ridley said, spitting at him. "Your wife is dead and your children are fugitives." With a dangerous glare, he helped Thane get to his feet and left with the group.

"Lad, please don't tell me that you started it," muttered Garrow.

Albriech rubbed his jaw absentmindedly. "I went scouting with Darmmen earlier, but the Forsworn posted some solders on several hills. The area across the Anora and down the valley are very visible. One or two of us might be able to creep past them without being seen but it's not sure either. We won't be able to get the children to Cawley's farm without killing the soldiers first, but that means that we will be alerting the Forsworn of where we're going."

Garrow fought back the growing dread that had taken root within him. He reigned it, like he always did when something bad was happening in his household. He was worried for the children, knowing that no parent could bear to see their child being caught in the middle of a battle – especially one that they could not win. They would either be captured, enslaved or killed.

But what can he do?

Pushing the matter aside for the moment, he put a hand on Albriech's shoulder. "Let's go. Gertrude might want to take a look at you."

Albriech shrugged him off. "No, her attention is needed elsewhere." He sighed, nodded to Garrow and plunged into the rain, heading for the forge.

Garrow watched him go, shook his head and entered the house. He closed his eyes, wondering what Marian would do – what the young Riders would have them do. Brom would have been a big help as a former Rider who no doubt has dealt with the Forsworn numerous times – without the powers and the dragon that Riders should be equipped with.

He nodded to Elain, who sat on the floor with a row of children. They were busy sharpening spearheads – a task nobody would have dreamed of letting their little ones work on. Garrow gestured to Elain and they headed to an empty room, where he promptly informed her of what happened.

Elain swore harshly, taking Garrow by surprise. The demure woman never used such coarse language in her life before – and probably never had a need for it either until the Forsworn came barging into their valley. "Is it a reason for Thane to declare a feud?"

"It's possible, but both insulted each other. Albriech made stronger oaths though Thane struck first. You could declare a feud yourself." Garrow shrugged.

Elain wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and gave him a thoughtful look. "That would be nonsense. The arbitrators will have to resolve this problem. We will pay a fine if we have to, just to avoid bloodshed and further problems." She nodded to reassure herself, and headed out the front door with a finished spear in hand.

After eating some bread and meat in the kitchen, he sat down and helped the children sharpen more spearheads. Felda, one of the mothers, soon arrived so Garrow left the children in her care. He moved through Carvahall, thinking about how to deter dragons even better and how to protect the children.

Sunlight broke through the clouds, lighting up the falling rain and turning the valley into an even more beautiful and wondrous place. He shook his head, berating himself for getting distracted by something that could be easily seen whenever rain fell upon the valley. He walked through the main road and saw movement. There was a soldier standing down the road, mail glinting.

The man was gazing in awe at the fortifications that the villagers made. He turned and was about to head back to the golden mist when Garrow collected his wits. "Soldiers!" he yelled, leaping to his feet.

Villagers – both men and women – filed out of their homes, armed and ready to defend. They gathered around the tench and peered through the overlaping pines. Garrow stood beside Sloan, feeling uncomfortable about it. He was aware that the butcher – armed with a shield and a curved cleaver – still hated him because his daughter ran off with his boys. The two men nodded briskly before focusing on the spot where the soldier ran off.

As if on cue, the shrill, female voice of Formora broke the silence. "Foolish, crude humans and your rounded ears!" she shrieked. "By continuing to defend your puny village, you have proclaimed your choice. You have sealed your doom! You shall die!"

Loring stepped forward. "Your maggot-riddled faces are not welcome here, lily-livered milk-drinkers! We will crack your skulls open and use your blood to keep our soil rich!"

Garrow realized it a second before it happened. "Take cover!" he yelled, and everyone knelt behind their massive shields, locked together to prevent any arrow from flying through. A spear flew into their midst, embedding itself in a door near Gedric.

Six more spears flew over the wall of trees and landed among the villagers. Someone screamed in agony somewhere in the mist and drizzle. Garrow's heart leapt to his throat as he heard shattering sound somewhere in the norther part of the village. There was an explosion and crashing timbers.

Acting in unison, Garrow and sloan led the run through Carvahall, followed by other fighters. They found six soldiers dragging away the splintered, burning remains of several trees. Kialandi and Formora stood behind them, pale, proud and mad, looking like phantoms in the heavy rain. With a war cry, Garrow jabbed his spear at the nearest man, blows deflected until he hit his foe on the hip and jabbed the spear into his throat.

Beside him, Sloan howled and roared like an angry beast, whirling around and jabbinga t the soldiers before he threw his cleaver and cleanly split a soldier's skull. When two others ran to him, drawing their blades, Sloan sidestepped them with a mad laugh and blocked their swords with his spear. He drew a second cleaver and circled his opponent, grinning as madly as the Forsworn. He stabbed one soldier after deflecting more blows, then circled the enemy with a bloodthirsty glint in his eyes. "I'm sorely tempted to gut and hamstring you."

Garrow lost his spear after facing the next two men. There was barely enough time for him to grab his flail and stop a sword from tearing his leg off. The soldier grabbed his fallen spear and aimed for his chest, so Garrow dropped his flail and caught the shaft in mid-air – astonishing the soldier and himself. Since when was he fast enough to do that?

He drove his regained spear through the armor and ribs of the man who threw it to him and retreated before the remaining soldier could catch up. He felt terrified for his life, and desperate to live long enough to see the boys again. He stumbled over a corpse and fell. He felt the fiery, searing pain as a sword cut across his calf. He yelled and rolled over – narrowly avoiding a blow from the soldier. His hands scrambled around, shaking and nerveless, to find something that he could fight with. He grasped a sword hilt and raised a sword in time to deflect another sword blow.

He was getting too old for this.

With a lucky slash, he managed to sever the soldier's thumb. "This comes from not shielding myself," the unlucy man said, staring at the stump.

"Aye," Garrow said. "And this comes from not being on guard." He beheaded the man.

The last soldier panickeda nd took off, toward the immovable Forsworn watching the proceedings. Sloan was screaming profanity at him with an unholy mixture of anger and glee. When the soldier neared them, Garrow felt horrified when Formora strode nearer to the man, teeth bared in a mad smile. She held out her hand and her voice rang loud and clear even in the heavy downpour.

"Brisingr."

Flames – which shouldn't be possible in the rain – flew out of her hands, white-hot and vivid. It engulfed the man, incinerating him until he was nothing but ashes. Formora staggered back, as if casting a spell like that dealt a heavy blow to her body. She regained her composure after a second and motioned to Kialandi.

"Sons of sandworms," the male elf said, and the two stalked away, into the pounding rain.

Garrow stared at the ashes turning into mad in the steady rain. The Forsworn were powerful enough to do that to them, but it seemed to cost them a lot. What happened to the tales of elves and their near endless magical powers?

"You fought well," he said as he turned to Sloan. Though the man had an ill temper, nobody could possibly expect him to contain such ferocity.

"They have it in them to harm my daughter – now a Rider and a fugitive. I had to – had to help in my own way. I have made a lot of mistakes and I will correct them," Sloan said with a growl. "I will skin them all or drown Urgals in their own blood if I have to. I'd kill the king, tear down the sky or lead the Empire to its doom if they try to harm her – or get to me just to gain her cooperation. But don't talk to anyone of that, oh Father of Riders."

The two men quietly worked on the ruined section of the wall, fortifying it the best they could with the ruined pines until they could get fresh trees. Then they headed to the scene of the first attack, where two dead soldiers hung on the branches of the wall.

Horst and the others knelt, circling a small, lifeless body. Garrow and Sloan tensed. It was Elmund, Delwin's eldest son, struck in his side by a spear. The grieving parents sat in the mud beside the boy with blank faces.

Garrow tiredly and sadly dropped to his knees. "We have to do something."

"Aye," Sloan said grudgingly. "Few survive their first five or six years but this is worse."

Losing a firstborn child when he was healthy, when he was bound to grow tall and strong was worse. It was enough to crush the parents and dampen the spirits of the villagers. "We have to protect the children. But where?"

"Hate to say this, but I think I have an idea." Sloan glanced distantly at the Spine.

* * *

The Riders followed the Az Ragni for two days, not daring to fly too high and alarm anyone who might see them. The dragons took a lazy pace to keep up their strength, and they left to hunt whenever the journey stopped for meals.

During these moments, Eragon felt content with eating his meals by the river, watching the kingfishers and jackdaws fluttering above the river. Blue herons stood on the marshy bank, where splotches of light fell through the hazel, beech and willow trees. The river sparkled beautifully, which is why the dragons were tempted to swim there on their first day.

"Beautiful," he said, as a bullfrog hopped into a bed of ferns.

"Aye," Orik said with a lazy smile. He lit his pipe and leaned against a tree. "Peaceful."

Eragon picked up a twig and began drawing figures on the ground. "Has Brom been in the Varden for long? Sorry if I'm prying too much, but it's hard coming to terms that the grumpy village storyteller is a member of the Varden and a former Rider to boot."

"For about as long as the Varden existed. He didn't exactly join." Orik chuckled. "By the time Galbatorix rose to power, Brom is the only surviving Rider outside the Forsworn – but without his dragon, of course. He organized the friends and allies of his order, who were naturally forced into exile. He convinced Hrothgar to allow the Varden to live in Farthen Dur and obtained the help of the elves."

"Then why does he act like nothing more than a messenger and servant – and as an occassional warrior?" Murtagh asked, tossing a round pebble on the water.

"I don't think he wanted to be the leader. That happened long before I was adopted by Hrothgar so I barely knew Brom until he brought you there. He was always off fighting and engaged in some plot or another."

"The life of being an adviser must be boring him right now," Eragon said as Saphira came into view, jaws flecked with the blood of the doe that she slew recently. She plunged into the water with a teasing hum, splashing Eragon, Murtagh and Orik with water.

"Cut that out, woman!" Murtagh said jokingly as he wiped the water off his face.

"Are both of your parents dead?" Eragon asked as he glared at Saphira.

_What? Even a mighty dragon such as I need a bath._Saphira submerged herself in the water and began to swim around. _Firnen was complaining about my, er, bloody kill so I had to show cleanliness, don't I?_

_ Oh, Saphira._Eragon snorted.

"The pox took my parents when I was very young. Hrothgar not just welcomed me into his hall, he made me his heir since he has no children of his own. He has been very kind to me." Orik's eyes gazed at the distant mountains.

"He has been kind to us as well," Murtagh assured him quietly.

Orik provided them with their own lanterns when the early twilight arrived so that they could see beneath them. The dragon snaked low, skimming the river with their bellies to know follow its direction. They eventually landed for dinner and made camp, preparing themselves for sleep.

Eragon studied the lantern in his hand curiously. "How are these made?" he asked no one in particular. "As far as I could see, it's flameless."

"Yes, it is," Faolin said eagerly. "We elves taught the spell to the dwarves long, long ago. They use it more skillfully than our own people could."

"Do the elves have something like the dwarf clans?"

Faolin shook his head. "We have houses. Every elf is a member of one house or another. If a member of a house does a great feat to earn a place in our songs, then he or she may start a new House if so wished, I believe, though it has never happened for centuries. My family is the House Drottning, but if my mother passes and I become the head of the house, it will become the House Konugur."

"Why is that so?"

"My house is… special." Faolin shrugged. "You will learn more about it when we reach Ellesmera. Just be wary of the other elves. They're not as outspoken with their emotions as Arya – or me."

"What was life like in Ellesmera? Do you and Arya have a big family there?" Eragon paused, unsure of how to proceed. "She told us once, of your father."

Faolin chuckled, and a glint of mischief lit up his forest-colored eyes. "Eragon, are you asking because you are curious, or are you asking because of my sister?"

Eragon flushed in discomfort. He had always been fascinated with the elf who was more like a human in her actions and mannerisms. She was a good friend, loyal but sometimes a little too protective – but it was appreciated, especially when she rescued him from Trianna's advances.

The elf smiled knowingly. "Eragon, I've been through that." He laughed and moved away to converse with Orik.

Saphira soared overhead, circling Firnen teasingly. The green dragon seemed to stare at her the way a young man would when the girl he was infatuated with passed by. Eragon half-expected him to start following her around with a dazed look.

_You are a fantastic flyer,_ the green dragon was saying as Eragon linked minds with Saphira.

_Thank you, but you are a more fearsome hunter._ Why was she sounding so coy?

"I believe that we are watching the dragon version of, um, flirting." Arya went to stand beside Eragon, a smile on her face.

"They're not exactly keeping it private," Eragon replied with a shrug. He did his best to keep calm and act natural. "I've never done it. With a girl. Flirting, I mean."

"And you're telling me that because…?"

"Because you must be thinking that I am a complete fool because of that, er, fiasco with Trianna." Eragon felt himself flushing again. He looked away, avoiding the elf girl's gaze. "I didn't understand her motives at first."

" Well, now you do and you should be wiser in the future." Arya crossed her arms, eyes fixed firmly on the dragons. "I won't be pleased if you associate yourselves with slatterns like her."

"Slatterns." Eragon broke into a smile. "I never thought you could resort to such a language, elf."

Arya smiled. "I've always had it in me, Eragon."

Firnen and Saphira suddenly landed in front of them, knowing looks in their eyes. _Would you like to fly with me, little one?_ The blue dragon regarded her Rider with mischief.

_I always love being with you,_ Eragon told her with a grin.

_How about letting Firnen and Arya join us?_

Eragon caught the other dragon and Rider pair staring at them with a grin. _No, it won't be a problem,_ he said slowly.

Night was steadily falling around them as the two dragons launched themselves unsaddled into the sky. Their Riders clung to them warily, uncomfortably noting the hard scales rubbing against their thighs. "Look," he called out to Arya and pointing at the Az Ragni, which was merely a purple streak beneath them.

"It's beautiful," Arya said.

"Not as beautiful as you." Eragon paused and blinked. _Did I just say that?_

_Yes, little one._ Saphira let out that coughing growl laugh of hers again.

Arya smiled at him, and she did look lovely. "Thank you, Eragon."

A fire took hold inside Eragon, burning brighter and brighter. He didn't want to push it too far though. He smiled back. "I meant it, elf."

"Stop calling me that!" Arya yelled jokingly, and Firnen rammed against Saphira.

Saphira tilted to the left and began to rise on an updraft. Three brown specks launched themselves from the mountainside below them. "Falcons! Look!" he said, pointng at them.

_Eragon? Those aren't falcons,_ Firnen said, breaking into his mind. _Look closer!_

The creatures were around twenty feet long, their tails long and narrow. Their wings were leathery. They resembled dragons but they were smaller, thinner and more serpentine. They didn't have glittering scales either – they were dappled green and brown.

"Dragons?" Arya asked.

_I don't know._ Saphira floated in place, Firnen positioning himself protectively in front of her.

The creatures spiralled around them, looking puzzled. They darted toward the dragons but hissed and swooped overhead. With a smile, Eragon tried to touch their thoughts with his mind. The three recoiled at the contact and began to shriek both mentally and physically. It was piercing and almost incapacitated him. Arya and the dragons felt it too. The creatures began to attack with their claws.

Saphira began to spin, avoiding two of the creatures and rising above the other. Firnen mirrored her move fluidly while the Riders cleared their minds. It was all that they could do to block the piercing keen. Eragon caught Arya's eye. She was as bewildered and terrified as he was.

Saphira flipped upside down and kicked the animal in the chest, lessening the shrieks as it retreated. Then the two dragons flared their wings and faced the two that converged on them. They arched their necks, as if they trained for it their entire lives. Eragon felt a rumble begin between Saphira's ribs, and flames shot out of the dragon's maws. Halos of blue and green engulfed them, making their scales sparkle jewel-bright, as if lit by an inner fire.

With a dismayed squawk, the animals veered to the side and began to speed away.

"Terrifying, but fantastic!" Arya yelled in glee. "Aside from the life-threatening situation, I would love to fly with you and Saphira again."

_Eragon!_ Murtagh barked in his mind. _What hare-brained scheme have you gotten yourself into? Are you all unharmed? We could see everything all the way down here! You know that we can't help with the other dragons busy hunting!_

Eragon rubbed his head. _Sorry about that. We're going back now._

The dragons landed in the camp. Orik ran to them with worried eyes. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Arya said with a smug grin. "We're fine. What were those creatures? Are they also unique to the Beors? They look a lot like dragons."

"Yes, they're the Fanghur. Not even half as intelligent as dragons and can't breathe fire. They're still formidable foes. Dragons are more than a match for them, it seems."

_Of course,_ Firnen said, bragging to everyone in the camp about almost roasting the scaled monsters.

"My head hurts, though," Eragon said.

"That's how they hunt, by immobilizing their prey while they kill it," Orik said. He nodded to the dragons. "You could even try it when you hunt. Come to think of it, you might want to use it when fighting your battles too. I'm glad that you didn't kill them, though. They're very rare, but they manage to eat enough of our herds. Stay away from the skies until we get out of the Beor Mountains. Those wind vipers might harm you."

"As you wish."

"Tell the dragons to hunt closer from now on, too." Orik grunted and picked up a stick. He began to draw on the ground – a pair of hands with what looked like studs for knuckles. "Fists of steel – Ascudgamln. Fists with steel spikes. They're good for hitting things. Some dwarves get them."

"How are they made?" Arya asked, as the other Riders drifted to Orik to listen.

"A healer puts you in a deep sleep to feel no pain," explained Orik. "Then a hole is drilled through the joints and they embed a metal socket in each hole. Of course, you will need magic t o seal that in place. Once a warrior recovers fully, then they can thread various-sized spikes in the sockets."

* * *

"I wouldn't mind having something like that myself," Murtagh said, staring at the drawing with interest. Fist fights would end quickly and to his favor too. He vaguely wondered if having fists of steel would count as cheating.

"Ah, it's dangerous – the operation, I mean. Few knurlan get them because you won't be able to use your hands again if the drill goes too deep." Orik showed his plain fist to the Riders. "Dwarf bones are thicker than yours – even elves'. It will not work for you."

"I'll remember that." Murtagh's eyes flicked up as Thorn and Askanir came into view, fresh from their hunt. _Imagine striking anything with impunity – even Urgals in their crude armor!_

_I can always do that, but I guess it is fantastic for someone like you._ The dragon snickered mentally and made his way to his Rider.

That night, Murtagh was unable to sleep. His minds wandered to home. He wondered if his uncle made it safely to Carvahall, and if Palancar Valley was already experiencing a warm weather. He wistfully remembered waking up early with Eragon and Roran to water the plants and gather firewood for the night. He longed for the day when he could return to it, and felt sad for having to leave in the first place.

He filled a wood bowl from his packwith water and focused on an image of Garrow. "Draumr kopa," he muttered.

The water went black and showed his uncle sitting in a small, candlelit bedroom that he knew was in Horst's house. He once ended up in there as a child, staying the night with Eragon and Roran because their uncle was too ill to go home after drinking too much – because his wife, Marian, died recently.

His uncle now had an intent look in his eyes, as if contemplating on something big, potentially life-changing. He seemed well enough, though thinner than before. Reassured, Murtagh released his magic, emptied the bowl and went to sleep.

* * *

**Ha! Sloan is not as jerk-y here as he is in the original story, I hope. I wanted to redeem him since he was so vile in the original story and for all his faults, he truly loves his daughter.**

**So, did you guys enjoy the moments with Firnen and Saphira? Oh, and I had fun with Arya this chapter!**

**If someone recognizes the Kefka reference from Final Fantasy VI, I am seriously pleased to inform you that I'm a big fan of the game.**

**Regarding the fairth incident in Eldest which a recent reviewer addressed, there will be a fairth-making project here but nothing like smashing them! It will be something more refreshingly hilarious. In my mind, that is.**

**Hmmm, the wind is evilly cold but the sun is shining as blistery-hot as ever. This has been happening for over a week. Should I dress for a warm or for a cold day?**

**Review, as always! It's a few seconds 'till noon here, but I'm looking forward to after sunset, when the sky will be lit up by the fire-breathing six dragons.**


	14. Light Amidst Pain

**Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING. NOTHING!**

**Hey guys, this is a really short filler. Chapter. Thingie. But I put it up separately just to address Eragon's curse and other little things... and because I'll be having a busy week and might not be able to update much (and I have another fic, you might want to check it out! XD)**

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**Chapter 14: Light Amidst Pain**

The dragons began to swim in the river as they continued their journey – after all, taking to the skies now felt unsafe since they were in the territory of the Fanghur. Roran sat lazily, nestled on Askanir's back. The sun was shining in the distance, and the light reflected from the dragons' scales cast beautiful colors on the river surface.

Though he knew that it was far from it, life felt peaceful for Roran that day.

_Something is troubling you,_ Askanir noted.

_I've been having… strange dreams._ Roran gave him a quizzical look. _I haven't shared them with you last night?_

_No, I wish I did, something's bothering you. It's not a nice dream with lots of delicious meat, right?_

_It was a dream. A dream of… I don't know._ Roran sighed and shared the images of a smoky battlefield, of armored dragons and three warriors sprawled on the mud – and the terrible, terrible image of a warrior with a wine-red sword. _I don't know why, but thinking of it makes me feel afraid._

Askanir closed his eyes lazily as a shaft of sunlight hit him, making him glitter in varying violet hues. _I once, ah, overheard Faolin and Brom talking about this. Magic users apparently sometimes have the ability to see possible futures – and that though they are the biggest possibilities, something may still be done to avoid them._

Roran closed his eyes, quietly contemplating on them. _I hope that it was just a dream. It didn't bode well._

_What about the warrior with the red blade? Do you think that it's someone that we know?_

Roran's eyes flickered to Murtagh, who was panicking as Luneria and Solaris submerged their unsuspecting Riders – and Orik, who was riding with Nasuada – in the water. _No. It's…_ Roran's thoughts turned unpleasant and he shuddered. _I think it's someone worse._

Dragon and Rider fell quiet, finally understanding who the man in a red blade was. Neither wanted to voice their horror.

"Faolin? Is it possible for me to scry my memories?" Eragon asked from somewhere behind them. "I mean, I've seen everything in them so I can view all details with magic, right?"

"What? Eragon, no! Don't try it, don't think of it if you value your life. Some elven spellweavers tried to defeat some of time's enigmas long before our times. They attempted to summon the past – and managed to come up with a blurred image in the mirror before the spell killed them. Experiments on the subject is now forbidden – though it is argued that it may work with more magicians. Of course, nobody would be willing to take the risk." Faolin paused. "Nobody has proven the theory, then. Besides, scrying the past? It won't be that useful, I think. Scrying the future would be more useful, I think, but of course you'll need what is going to happen, where and when it will happen. And if that is the case, then there's no need to scry it, right?"

"But premonitions during sleep – visions of the past and the future, how do they happen?" Roran found himself asking. He could feel his youngest cousin's stare. _Later. I'll explain later._

"Mmmm, yes, it is a mystery, that. People's premonitions, their capability to do something while sound asleep is something not even our greatest sages could explain." Arya shrugged. "I can't believe that you haven't thought of asking about it before, you've been traveling with an elf for quite some time."

Faolin laughed. "True, true. Premonitions are thought to be related to the very nature of magic itself – or something similar to the ancestral memories that dragons have. Actually it's just a very educated way of saying that, well, we don't know. A lot of things about magic are still mysteries even to the wisest people."

Throughout the beautiful morning, the dragons swam on the river, passing through a valley which widened as they passed between two mountains. By lunch, they reached the opening and reached a sunny prairie fading gently to the north. The powerful dragons launched themselves into the current and the frosted crags fell away, revealing the great blue sky and the horizon. The air began to grow warmer, less sweet. The Az Ragni veered to the east, to the foothils of the Beors on one side and the vast plains on the other.

"Though I felt quite trapped within it, I will sorely miss the Beor Mountains," Murtagh said wistfully.

Roran smiled. "True, the dwarves and the Varden have been nothing but gracious hosts."

Orik looked uncomfortable, muttering to himself while glancing longingly back to the mountains. "Aye, except for the fiasco with Az Sweldn rak Anhuin."

With a gleeful roar, Askanir launched himself out of the river, flying above the prairie to get a good view. He was quiet for a while, with Roran quietly clinging to him. They could see gazelles grazing to the north and east, while the Hadarac Desert stretched to the west.

No Urgals, no slavers, no nomads.

They were truly and fully alone.

* * *

They camped in a small cove that night. Katrina and Nasuada were busy preparing dinner, so Murtagh took the time and cleared some space around the tents. He drew Eldsvard and settled into the ready stance so ingrained within him by Brom. With a disadvantage compared to the elves, the human Riders decided to practice. For the first part, Murtagh decided to spar with his own twin brother.

Starting the duel, Murtagh raised the blade and brought it right down with both hands – reducing the force in case he missed and injured Eragon. The rich blue blade of Kylskada met his blow halfway down and sparks flew out of both blades. He pivoted to the right to parry Eragon's strong blow.

The others were watching intently as the smell of the cooking dinner wafted around them. Murtagh tried to block it all out and focused only on the ruby blade he held, and the sapphire one held by his brother. None of them moved for a while, studying each other's moves. Then they launched themselves toward each other, blades raised. They applied the techniques taught to them by Brom, parrying, striking, blocking and slashing. The sparring reached a ferocious intensity as they gave it their all – not one of them showing any advantage or disadvantage.

Eragon spun his blade around, as if to flip the hilt to his other palm – when he dropped the sword with a cry. He staggered around before falling. Murtagh dropped his own blade and ran to his brother's side, followed by the others. Eragon writhed in pain – and everyone was too afraid to come closer.

"Can you hear me?" he yelled, trying to link his mind with his brother's. When he did, he experienced the ghost of searing pain across his back and recoiled.

"Isn't there anything that we can do?" Katrina asked somewhere behind.

"I'm not sure but we should let him rest in his tent," Arya said.

Faolin put a hand on Eragon's forehead. "Slytha." The blue Rider's eyes closed, but his face was still pained.

Roran and Murtagh worked together to bring Eragon to his tent. Lips pursed, Arya wrapped him in his blankets tightly and moved to the edge of the tent, eyes outside and probably talking to Firnen. Murtagh glanced back at his brother before following Roran out of the small, crowded tent.

_Is your brother well?_ Thorn inquired, padding toward him with Askanir right behind.

_I don't know._ Murtagh rubbed his forehead. _One minute he's fine, the next he's writhing on the ground in pain. I think it's his back._

Roran crossed his arms as he stood beside Askanir. "This doesn't feel good," he muttered.

"I know." Murtagh sighed. "I shudder to think of what will happen if his back hurts in the middle of a fight – or a big battle."

Minutes passed in silence. The cousins stood by their dragons, each contemplating Eragon's fate. Katrina and Nasuada stood close by, quietly discussing the situation with Orik and Faolin. Arya stood with Firnen, darkness settling in their eyes.

Eventually, she strode toward Eragon's tent and entered.

Murtagh raised an eyebrow. "Did I just see that?" he asked quietly.

"I think Arya and Eragon… Ah, nevermind." Roran smiled in spite of the situation. "You know what? It's better if he wakes up with her around instead of us."

Murtagh caught on and nodded. He smiled too. "I think so too." He glanced at Nasuada longingly, wondering why he felt a dull ache in his chest whenever he locked eyes with her. As if thinking of it made it happen, Nasuada looked up from her conversation and glanced at him. She nodded grimly before turning away.

"Come to think of it, you're interested in a girl too." Roran smiled knowingly. "Nasuada is an amazing girl, isn't she?"

"Does it matter to you?" muttered Murtagh. "She's one of the Varden's most esteemed members and I'm just a lowly Rider who happens to be adopted by the dwarf king."

"Oh, don't pull yourself down. You're not some lowly Rider, dear cousin. You're Murtagh Shadeslayer, brother to Eragon Shadeslayer, Rider of Thorn and adopted son of King Hrothgar."

"When you say it that way, I sound more amazing than I really am." Murtagh snorted. He gave Roran a sidelong glance. "Hey, now that we're speaking about women, haven't you really told Katrina of your, uh, interest in her?"

"I don't know how to, ah, deal with it." Roran's eyes turned misty as he gazed at Katrina. "Women."

"Women," agreed Murtagh.

* * *

Pain.

That was the only sensation that Eragon was aware of for a long time. The searing pain cut across his back, and he couldn't do anything to stop it or block it out. He eventually gave in to the darkness to escape the haze of pain.

When he returned to consciousness, the first thing he noticed were the heavy blankets he was wrapped with. Then he saw Arya sitting beside him and he almost jumped out of his bed if he wasn't feeling so terrible. He blinked and averted his gaze – which settled on Saphira, who was peering from the entrance flaps.

_Feeling better, little one?_

_Yes, thank you. Was I out long?_ Eragon did his very best not to glance at the elf beside him.

_You were unconscious for a while. I believe you were unconscious near the end. I couldn't do much to help with you unconscious. I'm sorry._

_ Not your fault._ Eragon sighed, feeling faint echoes of pain passing through his body. He looked up at Arya, who was gazing at him with weary green eyes. "I feel so useless. How can I train, fight, use magic now that I keep being attacked with this – this cursed pain whenever I try to do something?" He hated the way that his voice cracked. He hated feeling and looking vulnerable before Arya.

Arya put a hand on his shoulder softly – as if afraid that she might hurt him. "You can sit, watch, listen. You can read and learn. Please don't let something like that hinder you. We'll find a way to help you – all of us, together. We're a team, remember?"

Eragon still sensed her uncertainty and fear. He looked away, feeling ashamed to appear helpless before her. "How could he do this to me?"

"I don't know." Arya sighed. "I'm a young elf – just a few weeks shy of my sixteenth year. We all do our best, and nobody blames you for what happened. Maybe it just needs a little more time." Arya closed her eyes and shook her head. She pressed her hands to his brow and said, "I will always be here," in the Ancient Language. She smiled gently and left the tent.

Still sore, Eragon sat up and stared at his palm. _Well, Murtagh is lucky not to suffer._

_ Don't talk like that,_ argued Saphira.

_Saphira, I'm afraid. _Eragon glared at his hand. _I can't do anything to prevent it, or anticipate it – and no one else can. It's inevitable, and I'm afraid to do anything that could cause it. It's like waging a battle with my own body._

Saphira blew a puff of smoke, blue eyes locking into Eragon's. _I can't answer that either, and you know it. I'm sorry._

Eragon sighed and pulled off his blankets. He walked to Saphira, put a hand on her snout and stumbled into the camp. The smell of dinner lingered in the air and Katrina nodded to him. "Are you ready for dinner?" she asked.

Eragon nodded glumly and settled between Roran and Murtagh. Saphira padded to the other dragons, and seemed to have a mental conversation with them. Bowls of stew were passed around, and nobody talked as they began to eat. Eragon felt himself relaxing slightly. Good food and good company were always the best solution to stress but right now, he wasn't sure if even that could have a lasting effect on him.

Right after eating, Orik lit his pipe. "Have I ever told you about the day I threw a boot at someone's face?" he asked.

"Orik, you always told me about that when I visited Tronjheim," complained Faolin. Then, he smiled. "But perhaps the young Riders would learn from it."

"That boot – I lost my temper when a dwarf left his halberd somewhere that people could step on it." The dwarf chuckled. "I broke his nose, and of course, Hrothgar heard of it. I learned a very valuable thing that every commander had to. Hrothgar beat it into me, as a matter of fact. I must treat those under my command the right way. They will die for me if I need be and trust their sacred burial to us. In turn, we must treat them with respect and never lose our temper."

"We'll remember that," promised Murtagh.

Eragon laughed, the worries of the night vanishing from his mind – even for just that time. "Brom once beat sense into a young villager who thought that someone as old as he could easily be mugged. Never thought much of it before because we were just seven years old but now… He really is stronger than average humans."

"Aye." Orik brought out something from his pouch. It was a knot of intertwined gold rings. He handed them to Erago. "This is a puzzle that we use to test cleverness and dexterity. Those eight bands can be arranged in a way that they form only one ring. I can't claim to understand what you're going through with that Shade's curse, Erago, but I've found it a great way to distract myself when troubled."

Eragon smiled. "Thank you," he murmured, eyes glued to the complex puzzle.

"If you can put it together, then it's yours."

Much later that night, after spending more time in stories, Eragon lay on his stomach and set himself upon the challenge presented by Orik. Four bands looped through four other bands, and each had smooth bottom halves and assymetrical wriggling masses on the top. It was where it was to weave through the other pieces. _Saphira, any ideas?_ It seemed like it was impossible to make the two bands parallel. None would lie flat together.

_I am many things as a dragon, but that is beyond me,_ replied Saphira.

_Oh well. A challenge._ Eragon grinned, and focused on the challenge. The terror of the night was gone from his mind – at least for a while longer.

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**Since it's almost midnight and my mother is yelling for me to go to bed (rock music blaring and all), I will be addressing questions next update. Sorry. :(**

**But I hope you liked Murtagh and Roran's guy talk!**

**Read and review, as always! 3**


	15. A Brand New Journey

**Disclaimer: Seriously?! I OWN NOTHING. NOTHING! *Shakes fist at the sky***

**Someone requested more dragons? Here you go! :D**

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**Chapter 15: A Brand New Journey**

Despite the exhaustion of the previous day, Eragon found himself waking up before dawn. Fully dressed for the day, he left his tent and stretched luxuriously. Wrapping his cloak around him, he strolled to the river. Their campsite was blissfully empty and quiet, and the river area was the same. He washed his face and was surprised by the coldness. He swiftly wiped it off with the edge of his cloak and rose to his feet.

With a flick of his mind, he contacted Saphira, who responded with her location. Pleased, Eragon belted on Kylskada and headed for a cluster of beech trees that lined Az Ragni. The dew of the chokeberry bushes clung to his hands and face obstinately, but he couldn't do anything about those obstructions – he dare not risk burning them with magic, and besides, it felt wrong to do that.

He clambered up a round hill and found the dragons on its crest. Arya sat perched on Firnen's back. None of them moved, and simply faced the east. A hazy brilliance smudged the horizon, slowly filling the prairie with its pale amber glow. Eragon took his place beside his dragon, and stayed as still a he could.

Eragon remembered the morning after he and his brothers became Riders – of how their dragons watched the rising sun from the bedposts. As dawn's first rays hit them, the light reflected off the dragons' scales and caused a burst of colors around them. Illuminated by the sunlight, the dragons looked every bit like fearsome, graceful and savagely beautiful hunters that the legends described them as.

Awe and joy filled the young Rider. He knew, right then and there, that he did belong in that world – the one populated by dragons and magic, where Riders and their partners dominated the sky. He knew that he truly was lucky to be a part of it.

He shared a look with Arya, who was smiling brilliantly. The green halo of light coming from Firnen illuminated her face. A quiet but vivid emotion settled inside Eragon, warming him and feeling him with an intense sense of euphoria. At the same time, he felt confusion too, for never before did such a feeling come upon him simply because of a person.

_Is your head in the clouds once more, little one? _Saphira's voice nudged him back to reality.

Eragon smiled. _No._ He turned to Arya, who still looked beautiful and ethereal.

The elf nodded to him. "We must return now and awaken the others. We've got a long day ahead, and I'm not sure that we could afford to waste more time." She paused thoughtfully. "Wasting time with you is so tempting, though." She chuckled as Firnen spread his wings and flew to the campsite.

"What was that all about?" Eragon asked, baffled.

_My Rider's cousin is extremely dense,_ Askanir said with a dragon laugh, before launching himself to the sky, followed by Thorn.

When they returned to the campsite, Roran and Katrina were tending to the fire while cooking their breakfast. Faolin was talking to them with a smile on his face. Orik stood by the river with Murtagh, discussing the wildlife in the area. Arya was making an inventory of the supplies they had left.

"Breakfast will be ready soon," Roran said as Eragon joined him. He gave his cousin a long look. "What happened to you?"

Eragon raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" He hoped that his cheeks didn't flush. "I just went to join Saphira and watched the sunrise with her and the other dragons."

"Arya arrived here with Firnen," Faolin said with a knowing look. "If you spent time watching the sunrise with the other dragons, and Firnen was with them, then my sister was there too." He chuckled gently and looked away.

Low-winds-over-the-mountains helped the dragons glide, still unwilling to fly high even though they were far from the territory of the Fanghur. Solaris was quietly contented – with her belly full and a day full of hope, she felt unstoppable, a true huntress-of-the-sky-and-land. On her back, her partner-of-mind-and-heart, Nasuada, was talking to short-two-legs Orik.

Ahead of her was Saphira-with-blue-scales, talking quietly to her partner, Eragon. The young-scarred-troubled-Rider was busy trying to figure out Orik's puzzle-rings, which didn't interest the dragons that much.

* * *

It was a beautiful, lazy morning, and the dragons passed through a yawning-mouth-valley, where a slithering river joined the one which the dwarves called Az Ragni, doubling its size and speed. The way these rivers worked interested Solaris, and she hoped that she could one day have time to understand just how they free-flowed.

Thorn-blood-scales soared beside her, and the golden dragon's eyes roamed to his vivid form. His impressive-vicious-power-visage was nothing compared to the unsatiable curiosity that he caused within the golden-huntress-of-the-sky-and-land.

_Is there something that your Rider wishes to tell mine?_ She pretended to ask, aware that she was looking ridiculous before him.

_I wished to talk to you. Murtagh has nothing to do with this, gold-sun-scales._ Thorn looked away, his ruby-glittering-hard-eyes fixed upon the sky-path ahead of them. _I am worried._

_Worried._ Solaris wondered about what could worry a mighty hunter such as he. _Why?_

_This… this Ellesmera._ Thorn made it sound like he disliked the name of the place itself. _Forgive me for bothering you, gold-sun-scales, but Saphira-sky-bright would merely laugh at me. Askanir-phantom-hunter and Firnen-forest-hunter would simply bother me with questions. And Luneria-moon-silver is not exactly…_

_One you could simply talk to._ Solaris would have smiled if she was one of the two-legs. _I what is it about Ellesmera that worries you._

_It is not simply about me. By what we have learned, elves respect dragons. It's about the partners-of-our-minds-and-hearts._ Thorn paused, giving Murtagh a glanc. Luckily, the little-two-legs-round-ears was busy with his own thoughts. _The elves might not be pleased that there are more human Riders – or that there are any human Riders at all._

Fear settled within Solaris – not for herself, for who would fear a mighty dragon-of-fire-and-skies? – and she did her best not to brush her thoughts against Nasuada's. She feared for her beautiful Rider with shadow-dark-skin. She heard so much about the two-legs-pointy-ears and knew that together, they could overwhelm the young two-legs-round-ears. She knew that the partner-of-her-mind-and-heart could be easily harmed by them.

_I believe that you understand._ Thorn let out a small burst of fire in his worry.

_Yes, I do. We must talk to the other dragons,_Solaris said. _We must do what we can to protect the little ones._

Thorn was about to fly off, but paused. _And Solaris?_

_Yes?_

_Thank you. For listening to me. Did I ever tell you that you are glowing like the sun?_

Solaris felt a burst of affection for the red dragon and she flew still, watching him glide away.

* * *

Nasuada gave her dragon a curious look as Thorn soared away with an equally confused Murtagh. It seemed like Thorn and Solaris had a quiet conversation, leaving their Riders baffled, still wrapped up in their own trail of thoughts. She merely exchanged a quick glance with Murtagh before he resumed reading a small book that Faolin lent him, and before she struck up a conversation with Orik, who was riding with her. Even that short contact sent flutters down her stomach which she didn't exactly understand.

They have now travelled for a mile since the rivers joined, and the Az Ragni began to flow north, passing by a lone mountain wreathed in hazy clouds. It stood alone, separated from the rest of the mountain range that made up the Beors. It looked like a tower of rock, watching over the plains ahead. Orik bowed his head upon seeing it, and faced Nasuada. "I take it you know Moldun the Proud?"

"Sadly, I have only ever heard it in passing," Nasuada replied, eyes fixed upon the lonely mountain standing tall and proud.

"It is the last true mountain that we shall see on our journey."

Simply seeing the mountain made Nasuada feel lonely. Being one of the last Riders, a heavy burden was placed upon her and her friends – and Alagaesia's fate was resting in the hands of six Riders who were barely old enough to join an army. She wondered just how much of a burden it would be if only one egg hatched. If the weight they carried would be melded into one, won't a person carrying it simply break from it?

When they camped for the night, Nasuada was, once again, in charge of maintaining the fire. With her were Orik and Murtagh. The dwarf showed them a long black box that was adorned with mother-of-pearl, rubies and threads of silver. Even the clasp that Orik flicked was made of silver. Inside the box was an unstrung bow nestled in luxurious red velvet. Nasuada never saw Orik use such a bow before, simply using the standard ones that the warriors of the Varden prefered. It was made of ebony, acting as a background for golden patterns of vines, animals, flowers and runes.

"I've never seen anything like that," Murtagh said quietly.

"I've seen some dwarves in positions of power use intricate, expensive weapons," Nasuada said. "But never Orik."

Orik grinned. "'Tis a gift from King Hrothgar before we left," he explained. He hefted his bow – which was around as tall as he was, but still no bigger than a child's first bow. "I'll look for some fresh meat, fruits and herds. Will be back in an hour." He strung his bow and vanished in the brush.

"I wonder what kind of wood is used in bows like those…" Murtagh mused, looking tense and a little nervous.

"To be honest, I'm not so sure either." Nasuada paused, then peered at him. "Is something wrong?"

Murtagh gazed at her with a small grin. He glanced at the moon, which was shining full and bright that night. "The night is beautiful. It feels… relaxing." His grin widened, but it held none of the restraint that the red Rider often had.

Nasuada reciprocated his smile. "Sitting by the fire on a beautiful night with an amazing person isn't bad either."

"Especially if the person is as amazing as you."

Nasuada felt a blush creep to her cheeks. She thanked the darkness of the night for veiling it. "You're too nice, Shadeslayer. I haven't accomplished anything that great yet. I don't even have the dubious honor of being involved in the shattering of Isidar Mithrim – which is good, I believe, as the dwarves of Farthen Dur know me a lot and it would cause more ire from them."

"It's not about the feats, Nasuada. It's about the person." Murtagh laughed and gave her a strange, unreadable look. "You know, you're even more beautiful when you're flustered."

"Did you just call me beautiful, Shadeslayer?"

"Yes I did. You simply worry too much and think too lowly of yourself simply because you are overshadowed by your father – and your brother. Come to think of it, you quickly assume that you are also overshadowed by your fellow Riders. Don't think of it that way. We will rise together, all six of us, or not at all."

Murtagh gave him such a brilliant, hopeful look that aside from his appearance, Nasuada wouldn't have believed that he was the same uneducated, simple farm boy that she met back in Carvahall. He seemed more mature, more sure of himself and what he believed him – and it wasn't a bad change. The Riders all were fire-forged friends, and they didn't survive their adventures without changes, both good and bad.

They will rise together, or not at all. That didn't seem impossible.

A loud roar announced the return of the dragons, fresh from a successful hunt. As if in celebration, they breathed fire in the sky. The halo of light around each of them made them sparkle like jewel statues with a burning inner fire – and it was magnificent. Simply seeing it with Murtagh made Nasuada's heart soar.

"They are spectacular. I'm glad to be seeing them while spending… time… with you," the red Rider mused quietly.

"I could say the same to you," Nasuada replied softly.

A brilliant smile crept up her face as the fire faded, and the dragons landed. Solaris gave her Rider a knowing look before padding to the river for a drink. The red and golden Riders exchanged glances and a smile, but did not speak once more, which was fine by Nasuada. Simply being around him was always enough for her.

A while later, Orik returned with a brace of long-necked geese. "With those dragons lighting up like a beacon, getting lost would be difficult." He handed the birds to Eragon and Roran, who began to clean them. "Found a flock of them perched in a tree. A good hunt, yes?"

"Oh, definitely," Murtagh said. "Trying to shoot birds have always been a challenge to us."

Orik nodded and retrieved the bow case. "Aye, they are nasty prey when in flight. I believe only dragons could easily catch them then."

_Of course, _Solaris sniffed. _Dragons can catch just about anything but those annoying Shades._

"What kind of wood did you use for your bow?" Murtagh asked, curiosity alight in his eyes. It made him look younger, more like the farmboy he once was – and it wasn't a bad thing either.

Orik shook his head with a chuckle. "It's not wood! You can't make a bow of this size out of wood. It can't cover long distanes and it breaks or follows the strings after a few shots. This is an Urgal horn bow!"

"What? But horns aren't flexible or springy enough to make bows."

"You just have to learn how to treat it right." Orik began a long explanation on how it started with Feldunost horns, and the entire process from cutting, trimming to the proper treatment itself. "All of it could take a decade," he said.

"I've seen a couple of bows like those before," Nasuada agreed, "but I've never learned of how they were made – or that they're actually Urgal horns. How far does it shoot?"

Orik handed her the bow with a smile, along with an arrow from his quiver. "See for yourself, but you'll owe me an arrow."

Nasuada held the bow gingerly, afraid that she might damage the bow. She nocked an arrow, aimed over the Az Ragni and pulled back. She was barely strong enough to hold the string. She released the arrow and it sailed swiftly, landing halfway across the river. She summoned her magic and murmured, "Gath sem oro un lam iet." The arrow darted through the air, landing on her outstretched palm. "Here, Orik."

Orik chuckled and embraced both bow and arrow in delight. "Wonderful, young lady! Now I still have an even two dozen, else I would have had to wait until Hedarth to replenish them."

The next few days were spent flying low over grass fields as the Beors faded slowly behind them. They passed through herds of gazelles and deer that watched them with curiousity and fear. Nasuada looked forward to facing her next adventures with the other Riders and their dragons.

* * *

**And so, the dragons begin reflecting the romantic tension of their Riders. I changed their "mating ritual thingies" a bit from the book, where it happens all at once. I kind of wanted to build up their pairings more realistically too - after all, they're also people who just happened to be, uh, dragons.**

**To be honest, I didn't like Paolini's portrayal of young elves as solemn creatures who are pretty aloof too. They were simply hard to imagine and write about, which is why... we have Arya as she is right now in this fic. xD**

**We'll be having more and more fun with the dragons in the coming chapters, so let me know about any suggestions you've got!**

**Read and review, as always! :D**


	16. Under the Veil of the Ancient Trees

**Disclaimer: The Inheritance Cycle belongs to Christopher Paolini**

**I was gone for almost a week, which is an all time low for me. I'm really sorry, because the cold weather got me sick. (18-25 degrees Celsius is freezing cold if you live in a place where 34-39 degrees is the norm) So I hope I could make it up to you guys with this long, juicy chapter!**

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**Chapter 16: Under the Veil of the Ancient Trees**

The Az Ragni eventually joined the Edda River, flowing steadily east from that point on. There was a junction that held a dwarven trading outpost, Hedarth. They bought the supplies that they would need until they reached Du Weldenvarden. According to their elven friends, the forest will provide them with most things that they will need.

From that area, the dragons continued to fly north, flying as low as they can to avoid the small possibility of being spotted by roaming nomads or other people who might deem it appropriate to venture so far to the east. They followed the Edda River to its point of origin at Eldor Lake.

They spotted Du Weldenvarden within three days, as a hazy green mass at the horizon that steadily expanded into a vast, quiet sea of oaks, beeches and maples. On dragonback, it was easy to see that the woods covered both the northern and western horizons – and extended far more than that.

The elven forest stretched across the entire length of Alagaesia and maybe even more.

Katrina felt hypontized by the shadows of the ancient trees. It felt like they had a lot of mysterious stories to tell, stretching out from a time in the distant past where humans have not set foot in Alagaesia yet. Hidden somewhere within those trees was Ellesmera, where the Riders were to complete their training, and other elven cities that have not been visited by the other races since the Riders fell.

_This forest is perilous to people who are not elves,_ Luneria noted. _Even if you are a Rider, I am not sure that it will be friendly to you. Strange magic and even stranger creatures will await us._

Katrina nodded. _It's like… another world._ She gazed at the butterflies spiralling around each other, rising from the dark interior of the forest. _Are you afraid?_

_ Of course not. I am a dragon. I do hope that there is enough room for dragons within the place. We simply cannot fly the whole time. I'm sure that they have found a way to accommodate numerous Riders during the old days, of course._

That night, Faolin held a meeting with the Riders by the campfire while Orik slept in his tent. In the flickering light, the elf looked haunting. "There are many things that you must learn before we reach Ceris, and most especially Ellesmera. Simply lacking this knowledge might embarrass you among the more uptight elves of the forest." Faolin looked uncomfortable as he spoke. He looked uncomfortable. "I was twenty-five when Queen Islanzadi appointed me as an ambassador twenty or so years ago. I was a young elf then, with a more than mediocre grasp at magic and swordplay, but she thought it would be… wise… to send someone like me to learn more about the other races."

"It did help, didn't it?" Katrina asked.

Faolin laughed. "I suppose. I do not feel like an elf anymore, after all these years. Humans and dwarves are quite similar, since their beliefs and passions are similar, and I like that about them. It is why the Varden and the dwarves can coexist comfortably in Farthen Dur. The thing I do not like about most elves is that they are far, far different from the other races."

"Despite what our queen will no doubt tell you, many elves will be polite on the outside and yet will do everything to bring you down or manipulate you," Arya said. "Except Rhunon. I think you will like her."

"You both speak as if you aren't elves too," Eragon said.

"I've been with the Varden for almost half of my life," Faolin said with a shrug. "I guess I have prefered them to my own kind."

"I was the only child elf for six years, and then my father died," Arya said. "My mother was too wrapped up in other things and… neglected me. Rhunon, the blacksmith, may have as well as raised me for the next seven years. And I've never really felt at home in Ellesmera since my father was murdered."

Faolin rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. "Elves live for such a long time, and courtesy is the highest social virtue for them – even if it is only shown on the surface. Grudges can last for decades, even centuries, so you cannot afford to offend anyone. Being courteous will help you avoid accumulating hostilities, though it is not a foolproof way. Elves, like any other race, have rituals that must be followed absolutely to the letter. We cannot easily procreate, like humans or dwarves. It is a… drawback… of our agelessness. Simply having two children is such a blessing to my people. This is why if we shared the same crime rate as other races, we would be extinct."

"That's not saying that crime does not exist among elves, right?" Roran's brow furrowed.

Arya shook her head"Of course not, Roran! Some of the Forsworn themselves can tell you that vile, vile creatures exist, even among the elves who think that they are the most perfect race. Perhaps, it may even come from that way of thinking. Still, there are many things you must learn, such as how to greet the sentinels of Ceris, patterns and forms that must be observed while meeting the queen, and many manners in which you may greet people around you if remaining quiet does not help."

"That sounds complicated," Eragon complained. "With these customs of yours, it seems like you're simply trying to make it easier to offend people."

Arya shot him a burning look. "Of course it is, what do you expect from the high and mighty elves, Shadeslayer?" She smiled. "We will be judged by the highest standards, as Riders. Any mistake that we make is something done on purpose in the eyes of the elves. It will be much worse if they find out that it was done because you had no idea that you shouldn't have done that."

Faolin nodded in agreement. "Sometimes, it is better to be rude and incapable. Else, they will manipulate you like The Serpent in a match of that annoying game, Runes. Elven politics are subtle and lengthy, and a small move might make a big change in a plan that spans millennia. What an elf does today might chang tomorrow. Elves all play it, but few control it, and even you, my human friends, are about to enter it as Riders."

Katrina felt herself shudder. She glanced at Luneria for support. "Even though they keep up the act of being ageless and flightful, elves are… more terrifying foes."

"Aye. Elves truly are not like other races. Though dwarves are long-lived in their own way, they are more fertile and are not the race that would be interested in intrigue or value restraint. And humans… are more interesting."

"But Orik is coming with us, right?" Katrina crossed her arms, gazing into the fire. "Why aren't you instructing him?"

Faolin shook his head. "No, no. He is already familiar with our etiquette. You, as Riders, however, must have an appearance of being educated – more so than him, if possible."

With that, Faolin and Arya discussed the different niceties required within the elven society. This started with the explanation of basic greetings when an elf meets another. They stopped and touched their first two fingers to their lips – an act which meant that they are not to distort the truth during their conversation.

"The phrase, 'Atra esterni ono thelduin' follows this," explained Arya. The young elf didn't seem too pleased with the formal greeting. "You must reply with 'Atra du evarinya ono varda.' If you are being especially formal, there is a third response: 'Un atra mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr.'" She proceeded to exlain that the lines came from a blessing made by a dragon upon finalizing the pact that created the order of the Riders.

Faolin proceeded to explain who must speak first, which would have been difficult to memorize for Katrina. Luckily, Luneria was naturally listening and promised to help her recall these complex rules should her memory fail her.

"Solaris wants to ask if it should apply to the dragons as well," Nasuada said, hunching forward sleepily.

Arya leaned against Firnen and smiled. "No. Dragons rank higher than any elf – at least, according to our culture. Not even our queen can claim any authority over you, and so you may do or say as you wish. Dragons are not expected to be bound by any law." She twisted her right hand and placed it over her sternum. "This is what you will use when you meet Queen Islanzadi. It indicates that you offer loyalty and obedience."

"Is it binding, like swearing fealty to Melikir?" Roran asked. He caught Katrina's eye and smiled. The silver Rider's stomach churned pleasantly.

"Ridiculous, it's only a courtesy. A small one, at that." Arya chuckled softly. "But it is asked of you, to show your respect to the queen."

Faolin began to explain the numerous modes of address that are used in a typical day in Ellesmera. The salutations were different, varying from man to woman, adult to child and boy to girl, in addition to their rank and prestige.

_Luneria, please tell me that dragons have great memories,_ Katrina grumbled.

Luneria snorted. _Naturally, gentle one. I can always help you should you have a problem remembering these ridiculous greetings._

Apparently pleased with their ability to remember it all, Faolin stood up and dusted his hands. "Please, please don't forget, and you will do well. Now, I must retire."

Katrina decided to take first watch, so that at least she could review the different things that the elves taught them. Wrapped in a blanket and sword in hand, she sat by the fire with Luneria. She was barely settled in place when soft footsteps announced Roran's arrival.

For a while, the two Riders sat side-by-side, neither of them willing to break the silence. Luneria shuffled off after a few minutes, saying something about wishing to talk with Saphira and Solaris. Eventually, Katrina thought it would be proper for her to speak first, as she didn't even get to acknowledge Roran's presence. "You should be getting your sleep. I will be waking you in an hour and a half."

"I can't sleep," Roran muttered quietly. "I keep thinking about Carvahall."

Katrina nodded. That, she understood. With spring taking hold of the valley, farmers would already be hard at work in their fields, doing their best to have a plentiful harvest for the coming year. She would have been flitting through the forest once more, looking for herbs that grew only during the spring, and preserving them once she reached her home. The only bad thing about it is that her sixteenth birthday is quite close, and her father would have started pressuring her about potential suitors – or making a match behind her back.

With a lump in her throat, she managed to croak, "I miss it too. Of course, I don't miss life without a dragon but I just wish it wasn't so… troublesome."

"Who's to say that life in Carvahall isn't just a different kind of trouble?" Roran chuckled softly, though he kept his eyes locked on the flickering campfire. "You know, if there's one thing I'm glad about when it comes to this journey, it would be because I got to talk to you more."

Katrina felt a flush creep up to her cheeks. Back in Carvahall, she rarely had a chance to talk to Roran or his cousins even though they have always been friends as they grew up. "A good change, then," she said.

"Aye. Leaves you free to think of other things aside from the horrid men that your father might choose for you."

"Behind my back? I won't let him." She meant it too.

"Katrina the Rider wouldn't let Sloan match her to any man behind her back. Katrina the butcher's daughter knew that it would be asked of her. I like them both, you know, but I do admire you for being the perfect daughter. Now, I admire you more for being the perfect daughter who hides a core of steel and fire."

Katrina hoped that the darkness was enough to conceal the redness in her face. "Roran, I barely changed. I am still me – even if I do have a beautiful, sparkly dragon, the gedwey ignasia and destroyed a dwarven treasure."

"We've all changed. We are still who we are, but we have changed." Roran closed his eyes for a few seconds before rising to his feet. Sadness lit his violet eyes. "I must rest now. Wake me when your turn is over. We must talk more… soon. Good night."

Katrina smiled. "Good night, Roran. We will talk more soon." She watched her friend's retreating form, wondering about the achingly happy sensation in her heart.

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On the night of their fourth day, the Edda River drew even closer to the edge of Du Weldenvarden. The land beneath was dotted with fields of dogwood and rosebushes in full bloom, suffusing the cool evening air with the warm scent of the flowers. Roran seriously debated with Askanir about picking some roses and presenting them to Katrina, as lords of the more prosperous cities did to let a woman know of their intents – intents on courtship.

_You don't know how many times I've spent dreaming of having her alone in your tent,_ Askanir complained. _I've had so many disturbing dreams of human mating rituals that I do not wish to remember._

Roran flushed and would have hit the back of Askanir's head if it wasn't sure to bring excruciating pain to him. _Stop it, it's embarrassing! Besides, she might not take it seriously, or worse, reject me. Still, giving flowers to a beautiful woman – who can no doubt incinerate me with just one word – feels courtly._

_ Just get them and get it over with._

Roran sighed. An undecided fool – that was what he was. He looked ahead, feeling a quiet sense of anticipation. The dark forest lay ahead, and they were within the domain of the elves. According to Faolin, Ceris was quite close. The dragons flicked their tails every now and then to display their impatience.

_This is where legends of old still walk upon the land,_ Askanir noted softly. _I do hope that we are about to join them._

Roran smiled grimly. _I hope so._

The dragons landed on a small meadow that was right between the river and the forest. The gurgling water was the only sound that was made for a few seconds, even as Faolin padded quietly to the very middle of the lush grass, tailed by Arya. He began to speak in the ancient language. "Come forth, my brethren, there is nothing to fear! It is I, Faolin of Ellesmera, with my sister, Arya and our friends and allies. They mean us no harm."

The silence that follow sent a tense knot in Roran's stomach. He heard nothing but the rushing river and the loud breaths of the dragons. Then, there was a line of Elvish from the trees. It was so quick and fleeting that Roran didn't get to understand it. Faolin replied in kind, and there was a rustling among the leaves.

Two elves emerged on the very edge of the forest, followed by another pair that stood on the boughs of na ancient oak. The pair on the ground bore long, white-bladed spears while the other two wielded bows. They all wore deep green and brown tunics and flowing white cloaks held together by ivory brooches. One elf had dark hair. Two had hair as pale as starlight. Another one had hair like burnished gold.

The elves ran to the siblings, laughing in clear, pure voices. They joined hands and danced in a circle around the siblings, singing like happy children. As Roran had learned before, the laughter of an elf was a beautiful sound that could be so hypnotic if one is left unprepared. The elves noticed the six dragons doing their best – and failing – to be inconspicuous. One of them cried out in alarm, before Arya spoke quickly in a soothing tone. She motioned to the Riders and the dragons as she did.

_Show them your gedwey ignasia,_ she said to their minds quickly.

In perfect synchronization, as if they have practiced it during their journey, the Riders drew back their gloves and tilted their palms. Their gedwey ignasia caught the moonlight and shimmered. "Eka fricai un Shur'tugal."

Nasuada touched her lips and added, "Atra esterni ono thelduin." As if recovering from a trance, the other Riders scrambled to do the same.

The elves lowered their weapons, their angular faces lighting up with pure joy. They raised their forefingers to their lips and bowed to the Riders and their dragons. They murmured their reply in the ancient language before rising. One of them pointed to the dwarves, chuckling as if at a hidden joke. They began to drift back to the forest.

"Come, come," one of them said happily.

_They do not know that Firnen hatched for you?_ Roran asked Arya curiously.

_Only a few important people in Ellesmera know of it,_ admitted Arya. _He did hatch for me in Tronjheim, you know._

Orik was grumbling right beside Murtagh as they made their way into the forest. The canopy overhead plunged them into a muted darkness of a new world. Slivers of moonlight filtered into the forest from the few uncovered spaces between the leaves. The elves were hidden in the darkness, but their whispers and laughter could be heard. They occassionally called over to direct them when they headed for the wrong places.

_I don't know if I should feel nervous or excited. We're here. In Du Weldenvarden. The land of the elves._ Roran could barely mask the strange mix of feelings within him. _What about you, Askanir?_

_ I'm wondering if they could provide us with tasty food, _the violet dragon replied dryly.

A brilliant fire glowed through the trees, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Entering the new area, Roran spotted three small huts that were clustered together around a large oak. A roofed platform was built high in the tree, working like a watchtower. An elf could stand there and see as far as the river at the very edge of the forest. A pole between two of the huts held bundles of drying leaves.

The elves entered the huts, only to emerge moments later with piles of fruit and vegetables. As Arya once said, elves refrained from eating meat. As te elves began to prepare their dinner, they began to hum softly, fliting from one tune to another whenever they wished to. The lone dark-haired elf passed by the Riders and smiled. He pointed to himself. "I am Lifaen of House Rilvenar, and my companions are Edurna, Celdin and Nari."

This prompted Arya to introduce the others as well. "These are Eragon Shadeslayer, and his elder twin brother Murtagh, also a Shadeslayer. This is Roran, their cousin and a great fighter – and Katrina, who was powerful enough to destroy the Isidar Mithrim. This is Nasuada, daughter of Ajihad."

Roran sat beside Askanir, exhausted from their travels and pleased to rest and watch the elves working. They were all males, and looked quite similar to Arya and Faolin with their delicate lips, angular faces, thin noses and slanted eyes. They had lithe bodies but they were no doubt stronger than a highly muscular man. They were fairer than any human, but their appearance felt more ethereal. Roran still prefered the very human beauty of Katrina.

_Maybe you are being biased,_ Askanir noted.

_Oh, don't say that,_ growled Roran. Then he softened. _Who would ever think that someone like me would visit the elves' homeland?_

Askanir kept his eyes on the flitting elves with the precision of a skilled hunter. _Anyone would. You're a Rider. Hmm, there is more magic in this race than either humans or dwarves. It feels as if they are trul not from this realm – more like vague reflections of what they truly are._

_ They are… graceful._ Roran shrugged, noting that the elves moved like dancers. Every move was smooth and lithe.

Brom taught them that it was rude to speak with their mind to a Rider's dragon – which the Riders themselves neglected most of the time due to their closeness to each other – and the elves adhered to it. They voiced their comments aloud to the dragons, who would answer directly. The dragons rarely spoke to other humans and dwarves directly, mostly preferring it if their Riders spoke through them, since few of those races could guard their minds for privacy. Besides, using such a form of contact for casual exchanges and pleasantries did not feel simply right. The elves truly were different, for they welcomed the dragons into their minds and were truly pleased by their presence.

_Some of them must have been old enough to have seen dragons before the Fall,_ explained Askanir. _Elves are ageless._

When the food was ready, the meals were served on carved plates that felt like dense bone. Wood grain wandered through the engraved flowers and vines which decorated the rim. Flagons of gooseberry wine was also served, made of the same material but with sculpted dragons wrapped around the stem.

Lifae produced a set of reed pipes and proceeded to play a flowing melody. The lone blond elf, Nari, began to sing in a beautiful voice that could never be heard from a human. When it finished, Nasuada said, "That was beautiful, Nari-vodhr."

Murtagh shot him a glare, but Nari didn't seem to notice it. "It was simply a rough composition of mine, Argetlam. I thank you, nevertheless."

"Aye, it is pretty, Master Elf," Orik grunted. "We have more pressing matters to attend to. What step shall be taken next?"

While the elves talked to the lone dwarf about the next leg of their journey, Roran found himself sitting right beside Katrina. He could feel her warm form just inches from his own, and it brought an uncomfortable warmth to his cheeks. "I haven't felt so peaceful in a long time," he found himself saying.

Katrina smiled warmly, like a beacon of light in the semi-darkness. She still smelled like the herbs that she used to collect back in Palancar Valley – of lavender and mint – and it calmed Roran. "It is a lovely night, and the elves are quite interesting."

"Interesting. Right."

Katrina laughed softly. "Oh, Roran, why would someone be interested in an elf in that way when that someone grew up with very fine childhood friends?" She rose to her feet, smiled, and headed for Nasuada and Arya.

What was it with girls being all sweet and demure one moment, and very coy in another?

"Women," Roran muttered.

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The air was heavy with the scent of flowers when Murtagh awakened. The forest was drenched in brilliant sunlight. A protective covering of leaves and branches arched above them. There was a lack of underbrush, and it made it easier for anyone to see great distances between the trees and walk freely beneath the roof of leaves.

Nearby, Orik was awake and arranging supplies in his pack. The dwarf didn't look pleased. He noticed Murtagh staring and nodded. "Elves are a queer race," he grunted. "They're full of light and darkness – drink with you in the morning, stab you in the evening. We must keep our backs to a wall. They're capricious, unlike our elf friends."

"Aye, there's something unsettling about them," Murtagh agreed.

Orik stared at the river darkly. "They're planning to travel up Eldor Lake in boats."

"Boats?" Murtagh rubbed his forehead. He never rode on one before, and he wasn't looking forward to it. He heard stories of people who have lost their meals due to a sickness that was caused by the constant rocking.

Later on in the morning, the group followed the elves to a thicket that sat at the very edge of the Edda River. There, three white canoes were docked on a cluster of boulders. A pattern of vines were intricately carved along their sides. Murtagh boarded the nearest boat, stowing his pack beneath his feet.

Upon examining it, he was surprised to see that the boat was very light. He could lift it wit ha single hand. The hulls were made of birch-bark panels that were somehow melded into one. He touched the side, and he was surprised that the bark was hard and taut – much like stretched parchment. Curious, he rapped it with a knuckle and heard the fibrous shell reverbrate, like the muted drums from Ajihad's funeral.

Nari sat at the prow of the vessel with a smile. "All except the vey largest, Shadeslayer. For those we sing only the finest cedar and oak into shape."

Murtagh wanted to ask about that, but Orik and Katrina joined their canoe. Arya, Roran and Lifaen took the third one. Faolin, Eragon and Nasuada took the third one. Murtagh couldn't help but stare at the golden Rider for a few seconds before averting his eyes.

"Guard this way well so that nobody will follow us," Faolin called out to Edurna and Celdin, who were to be left behind. "Please don't tell anyone of our presence. The queen must be the first to know. We will send reinforcements upon reaching Silthrim."

"Faolin Jofurr, Arya Drottningu," Edurna said softly.

"May the stars watch over you," Arya called out.

The elves drew spiked poles from the inside of the boats. They were at least ten feet long, and were used to propel the vessels upstream. The dragons slide into the water behind them, clawing their way along the riverbed until they were level. The dappled sunlight reflected on the scales, casting shifting colors on the surface of the water.

Saphira winked at Eragon lazily and submerged, forcing the river to swell. The elves laughed as she did so, complimenting her size and strength. Firnen's green eyes never left the sapphire dragon's graceful form.

_How about you, Thorn? Not planning on contesting Firnen?_ Murtagh smiled lazily.

Thorn snorted. _I like gold,_ he mused.

_Solaris? Please don't tell me that I caused this by, er, fancying Nasuada._

_I don't know. I'm not sure. Maybe, maybe not._

Murtagh smiled and looked away. They reached Eldor Lake within the hour. It was a rough body of water that had small, jagged waves. Birds and flies flitted around a cluster of trees to the western shore, but the east sloped to the plains. Hundreds of deer flocked the place.

Now away from the current of the river, the elves stowed their poles and distributed leaf-bladed paddles, and Nari explained how steering a boat worked. Eventually, Murtagh managed to master the ability. After some more time, the motion simply became habitual, and his mind began to daydream. He thought of the wonders that were concealed by the vast forest, and the land of the elves.

Excitement and dread churned together within Murtagh, spurred on by the fascinating elves and the dangerous side to them. And thus, the last leg of their journey to Ellesmera began.

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**I hope the fluff didn't overwhelm the plot. T.T I'm having a hard time balancing them right now. And yes, we'll be hearing from Askanir and Luneria soon. Like, really soon. And a fun, fun, fun dragon hunting trip!**

**Did a bit of Google-ing and apparently "jofurr" is one of the ancient Norse words for "prince." APPARENTLY.**

**Finally, the Riders are in the land of the elves! What adventures are awaiting them? And can Oromis really handle the education of six Riders all by himself? Tune in to find out SOON!**

**Reviews are always awesome, as always!**


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